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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26472493">A New Light</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrilstarlight/pseuds/mithrilstarlight'>mithrilstarlight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:16:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,876</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26472493</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrilstarlight/pseuds/mithrilstarlight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco spent six years doing his best to keep his head down. Then he runs into Hermione Granger. Turns out, they actually have a lot in common.</p><p>Chapters posted M/W/F.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>230</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 9 June 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>We're here to have fun, alright? I don't want to see people complaining in the comments about anyone being OOC. There's enough antagonism in the world, we don't need to bring it here, too. I had a blast writing this and I hope you all enjoy it for the wild and fun ride it is.</p><p>Apologies in advance for any Americanisms that have slipped through. My computer may be set to UK English, but alas, I don't have a britpicker to catch anything beyond spelling and grammar.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione dusted off the ashes from her pale blue robe as she exited the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron. Slipping off the garment, she bundled it up and stuffed it in her bag, happy to be rid of it now that she was off from work. Why the ministry insisted that its employees wore robes was beyond her. It was one thing at Hogwarts or St. Mungo’s to have a uniform, but requiring all Ministry employees to wear robes at all times when working seemed perhaps a bit excessive.</p><p>Then again, considering the fashion choices some wizards made regarding muggle clothing, Hermione would rather the robes. How difficult was it to pick up a magazine once a decade and see what the rest of the world wore? It would certainly alleviate the number of cases the Wizengamot had about breaches in the Statute.</p><p>Hermione took a deep breath and calmed herself. She had chosen to return to the wizarding world, even if it infuriated her more often than not.</p><p>“Anything to drink?” Tom asked as she passed the bar.</p><p>She shook her head. “No, not today, Tom,” she replied with a sigh. “I’ve got a book to pick up and a few errands to run and then it’s home for me.”</p><p>She’d had enough of wizards for one day. A research committee in the Office of Misinformation hadn’t bothered to compile their full list of requests to the Ministry Archive before sending the first memo. Or the second. By the fourth she simply held onto the memo until late in the afternoon when six more had arrived so that she only had to make the trip down into the archives once rather than, well, too many times. By the end of the day she wanted to beat every person in that office over the head with a broomstick. And wizards complained that muggles were inefficient. That was a laugh.</p><p>Exiting the back of the Leaky Cauldron, she tapped on the brick wall to open the entrance to Diagon Alley. Sure, there were fireplaces already within the Alley that were hooked up to the Floo Network, but she liked passing through the Cauldron. Tom was a nice man and usually she was on her way to Muggle London rather than the Alley anyway.</p><p>The Alley was busy, as always. Though nowadays she wasn’t stopped every few paces to be congratulated. It was a nice change.</p><p>Hermione’s errand today was at Flourish and Blotts. Six years after the end of the war, she had once again picked up the copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard that Professor Dumbledore had left her. The stories themselves didn’t interest her much anymore, but the extensive booklist she’d compiled from reading the late headmaster’s notes was certainly worthwhile. Flourish and Blotts had to order a book by Betrand des Pensées-Profondes especially for her. Apparently so few wizards in Britain cared to read a philosophical text on the nature of death that no store had it in stock.</p><p>She pushed the door open and was immediately hit with the deep, comforting smell of parchment. No muggle library ever smelled quite like it. There was hardly anyone in the store, being late afternoon on a Wednesday in early June. The only time she’d ever really seen the place packed was in the couple of weeks leading up to a new term at Hogwarts when all of the students and their families were clamouring for textbooks. She didn’t miss the crowd.</p><p>Someone moved on the balcony and she glanced upwards. Some man with pale hair wearing jeans was intently searching the shelves. Since the war more Muggleborns had taken to wearing distinctly muggle clothing around other wizards, as though it were a point of pride. Perhaps the movement would catch the rest of the wizarding world up on current fashions.</p><p>Her eyes lingered on his decidedly sporting figure for an extra second. Would it be so terrible to date a wizard again? It had certainly been long enough. She’d avoided any advances from her fellow wizards after she and Ron had slipped back to being friends, unable to keep the momentum of a relationship going as she caught up on her missed studies and he helped George rebuild after Fred’s death. The last thing she wanted was for someone like Cormac McLaggen to run around boasting that he’d dated Hermione Granger as though she were some great conquest. None of the muggle boys she’d mingled with at university gave a hippogriff’s arse if her name was Hermione Granger. She’d just been that pretty girl from the sociology department who always held her hair in place with a fancy wooden stick.</p><p>Oh, there was no use in overthinking these things, she decided. Ron was right. Eventually someone would come along and if they didn’t, she’d always have him and Harry to rely on.</p><p>Marching towards the back of the store where the old clerk was dozing in his office, door wide open, she cleared her throat loudly.</p><p>The old man jumped, adjusting his askew glasses on his face. “Oh, yes, what can I do for you?”</p><p>“I received an owl that my copy of Betrand des Pensées-Profondes’ book had arrived.”</p><p>He hoisted himself out of the chair and nodded bleary-eyed. “Yes, yes, that book with the insufferably long title,” he muttered as he began to dig around the stack of packages in the office.</p><p>Hermione frowned as his back was turned. It wasn’t her fault philosophers didn’t know how to keep their titles succinct.</p><p>He turned back with a heavy package and dropped it unceremoniously into her arms. “That will be eight galleons. Anything else?”</p><p>Now it was her turn to grumble as she dug into her pocket for the gold coins. She supposed the effort it took to get the book special order was worth the cost, although she wasn’t happy to be out eight galleons. “No, thank you,” she replied with an almost forced smile.</p><p>Turning on her heels, she immediately ripped open the wrapping and stuffed it in her bag as she walked. She needed to change out the paper at the bottom of Juniper’s cage and there was no sense in wasting good wrappings. Not to mention she was due to start stockpiling for when Harry returned in a few weeks with Bertie.</p><p>The book now bare in her hands was heavy for good reason. There must have been nearly a thousand pages packed between the thick leather binding. She ran her hand down the front cover, the weight of the book balanced delicately on her other hand as her fingers traced the gold lettering. It was a long title, indeed. Just as she curled her fingers around the edge to pull the book open, she collided forcefully with someone as they came around a bookshelf just before the door. The book went tumbling to the ground and she ducked after it immediately.</p><p>“Pardon me,” she muttered quickly, glancing up to see a pair of jeans and trainers. She must have run into the guy she’d seen upstairs. Well, he had ignited a few certain thoughts. Perhaps it was fortuitous that they quite literally ran into each other. She hugged the book to her chest as she straightened back up to see…</p><p>“Draco,” she scowled. Immediately her stomach turned at the thoughts she’d been harbouring only a few seconds before. “Brave of you to come out in public.” She hugged the book tighter.</p><p>He looked like he was caught somewhere between sullen and terrified, taking a half step back and staring at her. It looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “I’ll shop somewhere else,” he muttered, finally averting his eyes as he yanked the door open and slunk out.</p><p>A sour regret immediately grew in her chest. Oh, why had she been so rude? He’d done nothing and she had immediately jumped at him. She wasn’t like that normally. And he looked so scared to see her! She opened the door and stepped out onto the cobblestone street, looking up and down to see where he’d gone. How long had it been since she—or Harry and Ron, for that matter—had seen him? How long had he even been back in the country?</p><p>Taking a deep breath and shaking off the shock, she started strolling down the Alley. Surely six years was long enough to warrant a somewhat fresh start, right? Draco wanted to move on from the past the same way they all did. She could at least find him to apologize. It’s what Harry would do.</p><p>It took nearly half an hour, but after surreptitiously searching every store along the Alley she found Draco in Amanuensis Quills looking at some elegant eagle feathers. Lingering outside and peering in the front window from around the corner, she waited until he was headed for the door, slipping his coins back into a pocket, to make her move. She hoisted the book onto her hip and started for the entrance. The door opened and her gaze immediately locked with Draco’s.</p><p>A resigned look flashed in his eyes as he slipped past her. “I’ll just keep out of the Alley, then,” he muttered as he tucked the quill case under his arm and shoved his hands in his pockets.</p><p>Turning quickly, Hermione forced her words out. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she said haltingly. “I had no reason to be rude.”</p><p>That seemed to confuse him. His jaw dropped a fraction and his brow creased. “Apology… accepted?” He took a step back, looking down. “I won’t bother you.”</p><p>As he turned to walk away, Hermione hurried forward to fall in step beside him. “Would you like to get tea? We can get caught up” she offered. The question was out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying. Tea? With Draco Malfoy? What on earth was possessing her right now?</p><p>He seemed to be wondering the same thing because he stopped and turned, again keeping well out of her reach. “I- I’m busy.” He looked down at the ground again.</p><p>“Of course,” she breathed. “Perhaps tomorrow or the day after? Or the weekend if that would suit you better—I’m busy on Friday.”</p><p>He gaped a little, shrugging.</p><p>“Rosa Lee’s tomorrow, then?”</p><p>That one seemed to bother him because his answer came a little too quickly. “No, not Rosa’s. I… I don’t like being out in public more than necessary.”</p><p>Hermione exhaled sharply through her nose and adjusted the book on her hip. “Well then we can go to a café on Charing Cross. There’s a good one I visit twice a week only a couple of blocks away from the Cauldron.”</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>“Excellent. Four o’clock, then? Take a right out of the Cauldron, it’s got a blue teacup on the sign and would look quite at home here in the Alley. It’s impossible to miss.”</p><p>“That’s fine.” He swallowed visibly. “Am I allowed to leave now?”</p><p>Nodding curtly, Hermione watched him apparate away with a loud crack. Sighing deeply, she turned and began her walk back to the Cauldron. Perhaps she could use a drink before heading home after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 10 June 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco walked down Charing Cross Road, hands shoved in his pockets as he fought the crowd. Merlin, why did he agree to this? What could Granger possibly want to get caught up on? Did she want to reminisce about school? Did she miss how he’d tormented her and her friends like a prat?</p><p>He pulled a hand out of its pocket and checked the watch on his wrist. Ten past four. He would’ve been on time, but he’d forgotten his muggle money at home when he left for work that morning. Well, that and he’d doubled back twice now in an attempt to avoid whatever nightmare the bushy-haired, know-it-all, war hero named Hermione Granger had in store for him.</p><p>She was right, the place stuck out with its hand-painted sign hanging over the door. What if he didn’t show up? What if he just left now and moved to some secluded cabin in the Alps? No one would ever know.</p><p><em>Be a Gryffindor for once, you stupid arse</em>, he thought to himself as he pulled the door open. He wiped his hand on his button-down as he looked around. She was in the back corner. Her hair was piled on top of her head, wand stuck through the bun. He remembered holding that wand along with Weasley’s and whatever Potter had been using. He’d been told to dispose of them and, for lack of a better idea, shoved them in a locked drawer in the Manor.</p><p>Granger looked up with a soft smile and waved him over. He tugged the chair out and sat down.</p><p>“I ordered us a pot of peppermint,” she said, closing the copy of <em>Journey to the Centre of the Earth</em> in her hands.</p><p>It was a muggle book and if he weren’t petrified, he would’ve laughed at the title. Still, he made a note to look it up later. He then looked at the pot of tea sitting between them. He poured himself a cup and sipped at it slowly.</p><p>“So how is your family?” she asked, breaking the silence.</p><p>He kept his gaze firmly on the table. “You know very well where my father is,” he started quietly. Father had been sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban for everything he’d done. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t fought in the final battle. He’d done enough already between both wars to warrant a life sentence. Twenty years was a mercy. “My mother is in a village outside of Nice living quietly on the family fortune. We write now and then, but I don’t see her very much.”</p><p>“Oh. Must be lonely in the Manor, then?”</p><p>“I don’t live there anymore.” He took a large gulp of tea, burning his tongue. The less he thought about that cursed house the better.</p><p>Silence fell again.</p><p>“I’m living down in Surrey now. I see my parents quite a bit, every Friday night for dinner. It’s more for me than for them, though. I like to check in on them. I’m still paranoid that something will happen to them, that I should’ve left them in Australia where they would be safe-”</p><p>“Australia?” Draco coughed a little as he choked on the tea, interrupting her babbling. Since when did Granger’s family live in Australia?</p><p>She looked down at her lap, her hands hugging the teacup. “Oh, right, you don’t know,” she started in barely above a whisper. “After Professor Dumbledore…” she started. She glanced up and he quickly looked away. “After he died, I changed my parents’ memories. I gave them new names and moved them to Australia. I didn’t want them to get hurt because of me.”</p><p>Draco thought he might throw up. “That’s…”</p><p>“Horrible?”</p><p>He grimaced. What was horrible was that it was his and his family’s actions that drove her to do it. “No, I was going to say impressive,” he replied. “An enchantment like that isn’t a trifling matter.”</p><p>“Oh. Thank you, I guess.”</p><p>Merlin this was painful.</p><p>“So, do you see any of your friends from school?” she asked, pushing the conversation onwards. When would she just give up and let him go?</p><p>“No, I don’t,” he replied flatly. Goyle was still serving out his sentence while Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne had all moved to the continent. Theo was the only one still in Britain, but he was keeping his head down just like Draco. It had been probably a year since they’d seen each other socially.</p><p>There was no use returning the question. In what world would Granger not still see Potter and Weasley every day?</p><p>“I’ve been busy the last few years. I got caught up and took my NEWTs and a few A-level exams, got a degree in sociology from-”</p><p>Draco was rolling his eyes before he could stop himself. “Of course you did.”</p><p>Granger’s mouth snapped shut, a pointed glare forming in her eyes. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.</p><p>He knew he’d offended her. He took another large swig from his cup. “I meant that I’m not surprised you did a muggle education on top of everything else. After all, you were always just a fraction ahead of me in school, and it wasn’t for my lack of trying. You’re smart.”</p><p>Had he just complimented Granger? She seemed equally as confused by his statement, and then followed it up with embarrassment as he watched her face grow a shade pinker as she looked away. “My parents insisted the first few summers that I stay caught up with my peers. After the war I… I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. So, I went to uni.” She paused. “Besides, you might have done better in school if you hadn’t spent so much time antagonizing Harry, Ron, and me.”</p><p>He scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Granger, I was bored of it by fourth year. All the credit goes to Pansy after that. Besides, Weasley and Potter started fights just as often as I did by then.”</p><p>“That doesn’t excuse what you did to Hagrid,” she snapped. “Or to Buckbeak.”</p><p>“I know very well that the hippogriff survived, Granger.” His eyes narrowed as he started to glare at her. “And as for Hagrid, my hatred for him had nothing to do with his mother. He played favourites and left me, an eleven-year-old, with his <em>dog</em> in the Forbidden Forest. Potter and I would’ve died that night had the centaurs not been watching us. So, excuse me for holding a grudge against someone who neglected his job to protect me. Besides, it’s not like you and your little gang didn’t have it out for Snape. You were pretty clear about hoping that he’d get sacked.”</p><p>“And you leapt at the opportunity to torture us all on behalf of Umbridge-”</p><p>“I guarantee you would’ve done the same if the tables had been turned.” He pushed the teacup aside and leaned forward. “Every time I got shown up by you in class or Harry on the pitch, it meant another lecture from my father about how I’m a disappointment and a failure. I was a git, I’ll admit it. If all you’re interested in doing is guilting me for all the mistakes I made ten years ago because it’ll somehow make you feel better, I’ll pass, thank you very much. I have enough reason to hate myself. And if it’s an apology you’re looking for, then here it is: I’m sorry.”</p><p>He stood up and backed away from the table, almost enjoying the shocked look on her face.</p><p>“I need to go let the dog out before he pisses on my rug again,” he muttered, walking away. He shoved a hand into his back pocket, pulling out the tenner he’d stuffed in there and slapping it down on the counter before storming out.</p><p>Draco considered skipping work the next day, but Mr. Baddock would have his head for it if he tried. The final game for the League Cup was next week and the division was behind on their preparations. They were always behind. And a whopping three British teams had qualified for the European cup this year, which only added to the division’s long list of tasks. How in the name of Merlin had that bumbling Ludo Bagman managed to pull off the World Cup back in 1994?</p><p>To his surprise, a memo lay on his desk when he arrived. Who would be sending him memos? The whole division worked in one big room and he never spoke to anyone in the other departments. Unfolding the page, he grimaced at the sight of Granger’s handwriting. He had half a mind to chuck it in the bin—or better yet light it on fire—without reading.</p><p>She thanked him for tea and said that if he wanted to do it again the following week she would be there, same time, same place. His brain ground to a halt. She wanted to meet <em>again</em>? Well, at least she wasn’t demanding an answer. He could just not show up if he wanted. He shoved the memo into his pocket and tried to forget about it for the rest of the day. There was a championship game to organise.</p><p>Draco left work early, desperate to not have any chance of running into Granger on the way out. He’d seen her from a distance a few times over the last couple of years, but she had apparently never seen him if her surprise in the Alley was anything to go by.</p><p>He apparated to the end of a Muggle street and strolled by the brick townhouses with their colourful flower gardens. Hampstead was so much quieter than it was down on the river.</p><p>“You’re early,” a raspy old woman’s voice called from the kitchen. “I’ve only just got the kettle on.”</p><p>“I, er, didn’t have anything left to do,” Draco called. It was a lie. He was still annoyed by Granger’s note and couldn’t be bothered to stay any longer than necessary in that stupid office. He wiped his shoes off and then wandered past the little drawing room to the kitchen.</p><p>Draco had taken to wandering the gardens of Muggle London after he moved back to the country. They were quiet, not too busy, and most wizards never stepped foot in them. It was certainly enjoyable to leave the Ministry a little early and wander one of the gardens for a few hours before slipping into his townhouse. The downside to living in one of the oldest residential wizarding squares in London was that he had neighbours who knew very well who he was and, at least for the first several months, didn’t let him come or go without plenty of stares and a few scowls. It was easier to simply come home after dark when they weren’t likely to see him.</p><p>Hampstead Heath had become one of his preferred spots. The view was nice, and it was a little wilder than Hyde. That was where he’d met Mrs. Bates. He’d seen her sitting on the benches near a pond several times before she approached him one day, knitting in hand. She sat down, introduced herself, and simply started talking. She said he looked a little sad and reminded her of her late husband. One invitation to tea that he was too polite to refuse later, he found that he quite liked having company that did most of the talking for him. Naturally, she asked questions, and of course he spun some clever lies to abide by the Statute, but she didn’t seem bothered by his sullen nature and that was enough to keep him accepting her invitations. The company of a batty, old Muggle lady was better than no company at all.</p><p>“Bad day?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then stop frowning,” Mrs. Bates snapped as she shuffled to the other end of the kitchen to retrieve the tray and some teacups.</p><p>Half a smile escaped him as he chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”</p><p>“You had a good day, then?”</p><p>The grimace returned. “No.”</p><p>“Well it has to be one or the other,” she grumbled. When she turned around her face lit up at the sight of his expression. “Ah, girl troubles?” She smiled up at him as she passed again, tray now in hand.</p><p>The frown deepened. “Of course not. I don’t…”</p><p>She poured the hot water into the teapot and then began her journey to the drawing room. “Don’t lie to me, Draco, I raised three boys. I know what girl trouble looks like.”</p><p>Draco followed her to the drawing room and sank down into the couch with a groan. “She’s someone from school.”</p><p>Mrs. Bates poured out their tea and sat in her chair. “You don’t talk about school much. Was she a friend of yours?”</p><p>He snorted. “No, quite the opposite. I tormented her and her friends.” She tutted, nursing her cup, as he continued. “They have every right to hate me, but I ran into her on Wednesday at the store. She insisted we have tea and chat and it just devolved into an argument.”</p><p>“About?”</p><p>“All of the ways in which I was a right git when we were kids.” He took a deep breath. “I snapped at her and stormed off, so I guess I’m still a git.”</p><p>Mrs. Bates waved her hand. “Oh, hush. It takes two to make a fight. And if you really offended her that much then she’ll never want to see you again.”</p><p>“If only. She invited me for tea again next week. I can’t tell which one of us she wants to make suffer. If it were me, I would never want to see me again after what I said. I might just quit my job and move to the continent.”</p><p>Huffing, Mrs. Bates set her tea down. “A git you are, indeed. Besides, if you leave then who am I going to have tea with? You’re not allowed to run away; I like you too much. And think of Marie, she loves spending time with you when she comes to visit and she’s due in July.”</p><p>Marie was Mrs. Bates’s granddaughter, a loud and colourful girl doing something called sixth form. It was some Muggle schooling thing. But she reminded him a little of what he knew of Tonks and, well, that was enough.</p><p>“Fine,” he replied. “I’ll go. And I promise I’ll be nice.”</p><p>“That’s my boy,” Mrs. Bates grinned. “Oh, and that nasty weed is trying to strangle my roses again. Would you be a dear and pull it before you leave? It refuses to behave for me.”</p><p>Draco nodded. At least Muggle plants didn’t bite.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 17 June 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione arrived fifteen whole minutes early to her second meeting with Draco. She tried reading her book, but the words wouldn’t stick so she set it aside and nervously drummed her fingers on the table while she waited. They would have the peppermint tea again. She wasn’t sure what he liked, but he seemed unopposed to it last week. Oh, why was her stomach in knots?</p><p>She knew she deserved what he’d said last week. She had started the fight, after all. If she hadn’t brought up their time in school, then they might not have argued. But it would’ve come up eventually, wouldn’t it? And he was right, Harry and Ron had given as good as they got after a while. Draco may have shared some unsavoury words, but Harry was always first to draw his wand.</p><p>At four o’clock on the dot the door swung open and Draco stepped in. He looked a little less sullen than he had last week.</p><p>He sat down without a word and she poured him a cup.</p><p>“How are you?” she asked cautiously.</p><p>“Could be worse.” He glanced up at her. “How did you know where I worked?”</p><p>Her face flushed a little. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t know you were even back in the country until we ran into each other last week. At first I assumed you were simply living off your family’s money, but then I remembered that you said you weren’t living at the Manor anymore, so I took a guess that you had perhaps gotten a job after all. One quick look through the ministry roster and I found you listed under the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters.”</p><p>“Sounds about right.”</p><p>She leaned forward. “But my question is, why the League?”</p><p>“I, er, wanted something to do every day? It’s a clerking job. No one pays much attention to me and I got it of my own accord if you were wondering. No money or strings pulled.”</p><p>Hermione gaped a little and sat back. “I- I wasn’t thinking that.” Although it had crossed her mind. Even after everything that happened, money like what the Malfoys have can open a lot of doors. She was curious why he’d chosen something so low in a not terribly influential department.</p><p>“What about you?” he asked.</p><p>His question surprised her at first. Perhaps he did want to be here after all. “Oh, er, I’m working in the Ministry Archives,” she replied quietly as she brushed a loose curl behind her ear.</p><p>Draco snorted, and she swore she saw the barest hint of a smirk.</p><p>“It’s nice and quiet,” was all she could follow up with.</p><p>“And no one stares at you constantly?”</p><p>Hermione let the silence hang in the air for a long moment. Did she and Draco have something in common? People stared at and whispered about him, too, although for a much more malevolent reason. She knew she should be thankful her situation wasn’t worse.</p><p>Pouring a second cup, she cleared her throat and decided to move on. “Harry will be home next week,” she started. “Ron wanted to come with me to pick him up from the station but there’s a new line coming out at the shop soon and George can’t spare him. So, it’ll just be me. Not that Harry needs help getting back to the house, but I do miss having him around.”</p><p>Draco’s brow creased further and further as she spoke. “Wait, you live with Potter? I thought you and Weasley were a couple.”</p><p>Hermine flashed a smile as she chuckled. “Oh goodness no, Harry and I aren’t like that. He grew up in Surrey and that’s where my parents moved after they returned from Australia, so it made sense for us to share a house. But he’s only there when classes aren’t in session. And as for Ron, yes, we were briefly together. But I went off to university and he was so busy helping his family and rebuilding the shop that it was easier for us to just go back to being friends than force it until we hated each other. It was Ron’s idea. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to be forced to choose between us if things ended badly.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>It then occurred to her that it was perhaps more information than he’d been expecting, or even wanted. Merlin, why did she always babble on like this? Draco didn’t need to know the details of her relationship with Ron. It wasn’t his business. She brushed another curl out of the way. “In short, yes, I live with Harry.” She took another sip of her tea. “So, do you like working for the League? Ron’s sister Ginny plays for the Holyhead Harpies, although I suppose you already know that.”</p><p>Draco nodded slowly. “I do know that. The team rosters are posted in the office and she’s a favourite to make the Welsh National team for the next World Cup.”</p><p>“Oh, really? Good for her. I never understood Quidditch, although the World Cup was fun. At least until…” she drifted off. Perhaps it was best not to bring up that incident. She didn’t want to start another fight, not when things were going so well.</p><p>Draco scratched his left arm, his sleeve pulling upwards just a little. Her eyes darted down and her breath caught. She looked away hurriedly, forcing her gaze down to her half-empty teacup. It wasn’t her business what was on his arm, she reminded herself. It was in the past. Harry had been adamant about Draco’s unwilling role in a lot of what happened.</p><p>“I know what you’re thinking, Granger,” Draco muttered.</p><p>Chewing on her lower lip, she glanced up at him. “It’s fine,” she squeaked.</p><p>With a loud sigh he unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve and began to roll it up. Her heart raced for a moment, wondering just how nauseous she would be at the sight of the mark, faded as it would be, only to be met with bare, unblemished skin. She frowned, head tilted as she stared.</p><p>“You almost look disappointed it’s not there.”</p><p>She forced a laugh and cleared her throat for what felt like the tenth time. “No, just surprised. We all thought, well, Harry thought-”</p><p>“Let’s just say my poor performance at the end of sixth year didn’t earn me the so-called honour of receiving the mark. Not everyone got it, only those who were deemed worthy. It was the only test I ever failed and in hindsight, I’m glad I did. I get the feeling my mother and Professor Snape had something to do with it, though. You have to accept it willingly—keeps a distinction between those who chose to serve and those who were forced to serve—but that didn’t stop my aunt from constantly threatening to pin me down and carve it into my skin herself.”</p><p>A shiver ran up Hermione’s spine at the mention of Bellatrix. Every now and then she still woke up in a cold sweat after a nightmare involving that horrible woman. She hadn’t left a lasting physical mark, but that somehow made it worse.</p><p>Draco rolled his sleeve back down and buttoned the cuff again.</p><p>“Why don’t you show your arm?” Hermione asked. “Or don’t you want people to know you weren’t… one of them?”</p><p>“People stare less if I just keep my sleeve down. They can assume what they want, I don’t care. I might as well have had it.”</p><p>It wasn’t a wholly satisfying answer, but from the sullen look that he was developing, she decided not to push the issue.</p><p>Draco downed the last of his cup and then stood, tossing another tenner on the table. “I have to go and let the dog out,” he mumbled before leaving.</p><p>Hermione pursed her lips and watched him leave. She wasn’t sure he had a dog. Surely it was just an excuse to get away?</p><p>The Hogwarts Express arrived at seven o’clock on the dot the following Wednesday. Harry exited the professors’ carriage with his usual happy-yet-wistful expression. Even now, he still considered Hogwarts more a home than anywhere else.</p><p>“Oh, I’ve missed you,” Hermione said, embracing Harry. “Will you ever stop volunteering to supervise the train and just Floo home? It would save me so much trouble.”</p><p>“Never,” Harry laughed as they broke apart. “Where’s Ron?”</p><p>She picked up Bertie’s cage and waited as Harry loaded his trunk onto a cart. He didn’t have much he carried back and forth between Hogwarts and Surrey beyond some clothes and Bertie. And he would only be home for the summer. “He had to stay at the shop. A new shipment is coming in for release next week and George couldn’t spare him. You know how it is.”</p><p>“That place wouldn’t still be standing if it weren’t for him, I know. How are the rest of them?”</p><p>They slipped through the barrier and she led him out to her parents’ car, which they’d kindly lent her for the evening. It was easier to simply drive than anything else. “Excited to see you, of course. Molly will be happy to have you back for Sunday dinners. Arthur just finished his course in electrical installations and I’ll warn you now, he’s going to regale you with all of the amazing things he’s learned since you were last here. Try not to laugh too much when he gets excited about switches. Bill and Fleur are expecting again, but you might already know that. Oh, and I’ve heard that Ginny is already favourite for the Welsh National team come the next World Cup.”</p><p>The last one piqued Harry’s interest. He hoisted the trunk into the car’s boot. “Where did you hear that one? You don’t follow quidditch.”</p><p>Hermione winced a little. “I’ll explain when we get home.” She wasn’t quite sure how Harry would take the news of her reacquaintance with Draco, and she’d rather they have a row in their house than public.</p><p>The drive home was filled with Harry relaying various well-wishes from the other professors and some particularly amusing answers he’d received on exams. Hermione pulled into their house’s drive and carried Bertie inside. They had leftover pasta that she’d made a couple of days prior and sat on the couch, feet up on the table. Oh, she missed having Harry around. It was nice to not live alone.</p><p>“So, what’s this about Ginny being on the Welsh National Team? Have you suddenly developed an interest in quidditch since I was here in April?” Harry asked as he began to wash the dishes by hand. They hardly used magic in the house. She wanted to say it was because they missed the little things about muggle life, but really they were simply both terrible at household charms and it messed with the electricity too much.</p><p>Hermione hopped up onto the counter, hands gripping the edge with white-knuckled strength. “No, sadly I have not,” she started. “Actually, you’ll never guess who I heard it from.”</p><p>“What, did Bagman suddenly show his face again? If he has, I’ve got a few choice words for him.”</p><p>She laughed. “No, actually it was Draco Malfoy who told me.”</p><p>Harry looked over his shoulder. “Really? He’s back in the country?”</p><p>“That’s what I thought!” she cried, leaning forward a little. “I went to Flourish and Blotts to pick up that book by Bertrand des Pensées-Profondes that I told you about from Professor Dumbledore’s notes, <em>A Study into the Possibility of Reversing the Actual and Metaphysical Effects of Natural Death, with Particular Regard to the Reintegration of Essence and Matter</em>. It’s been a terribly fascinating read so far. He’s very verbose and goes on and on about the nature of-”</p><p>“Hermione, get to the point,” Harry sighed, wiping his hands on a towel.</p><p>“Right, sorry.” She put up a hand, wincing a little. Harry was the only one who interrupted her like that. Ron had simply taken to letting her prattle on until she circled back around to her original point. It was nice of him, even if he didn’t understand or care what she was talking about. “I was picking up my book and I literally ran into Draco on the way out of the shop. He must have been trying to avoid me, although I don’t know why he didn’t just hide in one of the back corners upstairs. I was terribly rude to him, probably because I was so shocked to see him, but I knew you’d be disappointed in me for being so mean, so I chased him down and asked him to tea. To my surprise he actually showed up, then we had a bit of a row about what happened in school and he stormed off. Although I did start it, so it’s not <em>entirely</em> his fault. I thought he’d never want to see me again but I figured it couldn’t hurt, so I invited him again and he showed up! Oh, Harry, he’s nothing like what I remember. He looked so scared and sullen, I almost pitied him. His mother is down in France and he’s moved out of the manor—I don’t know where he’s living now, though—and he works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He’s a clerk for the British and Irish Quidditch League! And did you know he never got the mark? I saw his arm! He said he never earned it because he didn’t kill Professor Dumbledore!”</p><p>Harry was caught somewhere between amused and confused by the time she finished, now breathless. “Inhale, Hermione. You’re allowed to breathe between words,” Harry joked. He leaned back against the now empty sink. “Yes, I know he never got the mark.”</p><p>“And you never said anything?” She sat up straight again, head tilted.</p><p>Harry shrugged. “I never thought it was relevant. The Wizengamot had him bare his arm at the trial. You would’ve seen it if you’d shown up.”</p><p>Wrinkling her nose, Hermione slid down from the counter. “You know very well why I didn’t go.” She had been on her way to Australia to retrieve her parents when the trials happened. It had been on purpose. She hadn’t been sure she could sit through a single one without completely losing it.</p><p>“So, are you going to have tea with him again?”</p><p>Hermione bit her lip. “I haven’t asked yet. With you coming home, I wanted to know what you thought. I mean it when I say he seems different. It’s not just that he’s no longer a bullying prat, at least not from what I’ve seen. It’s the way he carried himself. Something has definitely changed. So, what do you think?” Hermione crossed her arms nervously.</p><p>“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “Invite him ‘round for tea here on Saturday.”</p><p>She blinked in surprise. “Here? Do you think he would come?”</p><p>“Yeah, why not?”</p><p>“Alright, then,” Hermione sighed. “I’ll send him a note tomorrow at work.”</p><p>Harry left the kitchen and made it halfway up the stairs before turning around and looking back down with a wide grin. “Oh, I forgot to mention. McGonagall says you might have competition for your title of best marks Hogwarts has ever seen,” he called down.</p><p>“What?!” Hermione cried, dashing out the kitchen and to the stairs. “Who’s breaking my record?”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 26 June 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco stepped out of the fireplace, stifling a cough from the ash that had flown into his lungs. He hated using the Floo, but it was the middle of the day and there was no secluded park he could apparate into like on his own street, so Granger had insisted on the network.</p><p>“Right on time,” Potter said, holding out his hand with a smile. “Hermione and I took a bet. Looks like she owes me five quid.”</p><p>Glancing down, Draco reached out and shook Potter’s hand hesitantly. “I’m not usually late.” Looking around, he noted Granger’s absence.</p><p>“She’s in the kitchen making tea.” Potter gestured over his shoulder to the hall beyond.</p><p>“Ah.” Draco shoved his hands into his pockets, standing awkwardly. “I’m, er, surprised you agreed to have me over.”</p><p>Potter laughed with a shrug. “Why not? I’ve got more in common with you than I do my cousin and I’ve learned to get along with Dudley fine.” He jumped a little and turned around. “Oh, that reminds me…” Stepping towards the hall, he called out. “Hermione, make sure I remember the controller when I go to Dudley’s tonight, he’s lost his spare again.”</p><p>“Got it!” Granger called back.</p><p>Potter turned back with a smile. “My favourite part about coming back every summer. My cousin spends the year curating a list of games for me to play while I’m here.”</p><p>Draco didn’t understand a word Potter was saying, but nodded along anyway.</p><p>They stood in silence for a moment. “I never thanked you,” Draco started.</p><p>“For?”</p><p>“What you said at… at my trial.” Draco swallowed painfully. “You didn’t have to.”</p><p>“I did, Draco,” Potter replied in a low voice. “Wouldn’t have been right for me to keep the truth to myself.” With a sigh he brightened up again and changed the topic. “Er, if you need the loo to wash up it’s at the very end of the hall. I know we don’t keep a clean hearth.”</p><p>“That might be a good idea.” Draco stepped into the hallway and looked it up and down. The house was indeed small. Books were stacked on every flat surface, although did he expect any less from Granger? He turned away from the front door and walked past the stairs. Shutting himself in, he bent over the sink and took a deep breath.</p><p>That morning in the Wizengamot was as clear as day in his mind’s eye. He and his family had been arrested. Father argued, Mother was indignant, but he himself had gone quietly. He was just glad to be alive. The court questioned him for what seemed like hours. They bared his arm to look for the mark. He told them everything. He sold out his father, assuring everyone in that room that at least up until the incident in the Department of Mysteries, Lucius Malfoy had acted willingly and of his own accord.</p><p>They weren’t convinced when he said that he himself had been under duress. At least not until Potter had shown up. He’d fought his way into the room. He’d shouted down the court, insisting that despite all of his shortcomings, Draco Malfoy had only ever acted under pain of death. And when it mattered most, he had, in the end, not acted. He had been neutral.</p><p>Merlin, the way Potter had said that last word still stung. Neutrality wasn’t the worst Draco could’ve done, but it hadn’t been his best.</p><p>Splashing cold water on his face, Draco took a deep, ragged breath. Draco had saved Potter that day in the Manor and the debt had been repaid. Potter kept him out of Azkaban in return. It was in the past now.</p><p>Draco wiped his face with the towel and then opened the door. Voices were echoing from the drawing room and for a split second he wondered if they were talking about him.</p><p>“If Lucy has any of her cookies leftover, bring some back,” Granger’s voice said. “I know she keeps insisting I can make them myself, but I think she doubts me when I say I’m truly awful at baking.”</p><p>Potter laughed. “For someone who got an O on her potions NEWT you’d think you’d be better at it.”</p><p>Draco rounded the corner to see the pair sitting, tea in hand. They looked up to him with smiles still on their faces. Was he hallucinating? Potter was in the armchair, ankle on his knee, while Granger was sitting cross-legged on the couch. Crossing the room, Draco took the other armchair. Potter immediately leaned forward and poured him a cup.</p><p>“Harry was just making fun of my terrible baking skills,” Granger said. “He seems to think that being excellent at potions means I can follow any set of instructions.”</p><p>Potter scoffed. “I’m just saying Lucy is right. Baking is like chemistry and chemistry is like potions. I don’t know what your problem is!”</p><p>“Whatever.” Granger waved a hand. “I’ll get Molly to teach me her baking charms.”</p><p>“Knowing you, it’ll take an hour at most to master them,” Draco cut in. Both Granger and Potter turned to look at him with a hint of surprise, as though they’d forgotten he was there. His face warmed ever so slightly and he looked down. “I’m right, aren’t I?”</p><p>Granger shifted in her seat. “For your information, I do in fact struggle with spells sometimes,” she muttered.</p><p>“Yeah, and I’m a two-arsed hippogriff,” Potter snorted. He then turned to Draco. “So how do you like working in the League?”</p><p>Draco swallowed the growing panic that gripped his throat. “It’s fine, I guess. Keeps me busy.”</p><p>“Do you still play?”</p><p>He could’ve laughed at the question. “No, I don’t exactly have anyone to play <em>with</em>. Kind of the point of the game, isn’t it?”</p><p>Potter did laugh at the response. “I ‘spose it is, yeah. The one drawback to living in a muggle neighbourhood is not being able to play.”</p><p>“Liar. You play every week at the Burrow,” Granger cut in.</p><p>“And Ginny kicks my arse every time.” Potter turned back to Draco. “You’ll be pleased to hear that Slytherin took the Quidditch cup this year at Hogwarts. They had a good team—much better than Hufflepuff.”</p><p>“When did Hufflepuff ever have a good team?” Draco joked, rolling his eyes. “Half the time they can’t tell a bludger from a quaffle.”</p><p>“Oh, be nice,” Granger cut in.</p><p>“There’s no room for nice in quidditch, Hermione,” Potter shot back. “It’s cutthroat and rightfully so. You just don’t understand it.”</p><p>Granger opened her mouth to reply when a loud ring came from the kitchen and Draco jumped in his seat. “Oh, I’ll get that,” she said as she stood. “Best leave you two to your quidditch.”</p><p>Draco looked over to Potter, who was doing a terrible job of hiding his laughter. “What?” Draco muttered.</p><p>“Your face when the telephone rang was priceless.”</p><p>“I know what a telephone is, Potter. Yours is just very loud. It startled me, that’s all.”</p><p>Potter stood and took Draco’s empty teacup, picking up the tray. “I’ll clean up,” he sighed. “She might be a while.”</p><p>Alone in the room, Draco stood and looked around. The mantle was dotted with pictures, some moving and some still. There was one of Potter, Weasley, and Granger sometime during what Draco guessed was third year and another from more recently. Granger and the Weasley girl were cheek to cheek smiling in another, followed by Granger with her parents. There was one of her in a black robe with a square cap—something muggle—riding on the shoulders of some tall blond guy who wore the same outfit. A dark-haired girl was on another guy’s shoulders beside Granger. They were both laughing, although Granger looked more like she was screaming as she held the funny hat on top of her hair.</p><p>“That’s Rhiannon. She was Hermione’s best friend at uni.”</p><p>Draco jumped at Potter’s sudden presence. “Oh.” He licked his lips and nodded at the picture. “And the others?”</p><p>“I don’t know who Rhi is on, but the other one is Jack. He was Hermione’s… friend.”</p><p>It didn’t take a genius to know what Potter wasn’t saying.</p><p>“Come on, I’ll give you a tour,” he continued, changing the subject as he beckoned Draco along. “This is obviously the sitting room. It’s not much. The whole house isn’t much. A lot of it’s Hermione’s stuff since she’s the only one who lives here most of the time.”</p><p>“Makes sense, I guess,” Draco muttered as he followed Potter into the hall.</p><p>“Dining is across the way as well as the kitchen.”</p><p>“No, mum, I’ll just get it when I come next week,” Granger said with a sigh from the kitchen. She glanced up and waved a hand at them as they passed through</p><p>“Somehow I imagined Granger owning a lot more books than this.” Draco stared at the bookshelf as they re-entered the sitting room.</p><p>Potter looked over his shoulder towards Hermione, who was now staring out the window with her arms crossed. “If we’re quick, I’ll show you where the rest are.” With a wave, he beckoned Draco back into the hall and bounded up the stairs with surprising silence.</p><p>Frowning, Draco took hold of the bannister and followed Potter upstairs. They passed two closed doors before stopping at the third. Behind it was a small room covered in books and parchment. It was by far the messiest place in the house. It was one thing to see books stacked here and there downstairs, but here the walls were covered in them from floor to ceiling and when she’d run out of shelves Granger had begun piling them on the floor.</p><p>“Looks like Flourish and Blotts in here,” Draco muttered.</p><p>Potter chuckled. “Yeah, tell me about it.”</p><p>The desk along one wall was layered in parchment covered in Granger’s scribblings. Draco tried not to look too hard for fear of prying. And he thought she’d been a stuffy bookworm in school. This girl was somewhere else entirely. “What is she studying?”</p><p>“Dunno,” Potter shrugged as he straightened one of the floor stacks. “She comes in here a lot to get away. If she’s got her headphones on you could apparate right behind her and she’d never know.”</p><p>In the corner by the desk was a muggle machine. Granger’s had a stack of maybe fifty or so little cases on top of it and massive headphones draped over a large dial.</p><p>“Have you ever worn a pair?” Potter asked, picking up the headphones.</p><p>Draco shook his head. “I’ve seen muggles wearing them, though. Aren’t they usually smaller?”</p><p>“Some are, yeah, but she likes the big ones.” Potter handed over the pair and motioned for Draco to put them on.</p><p>The world grew quieter and whatever Potter had said next was muffled. It had been something along the lines of not knowing something, but whatever it was got cut off by the sound of Queen. A few bars in, Draco took the headphones off and Potter hit a button, darkening the little display.</p><p>“Come on, she’s probably almost done.” Potter ushered Draco out of the room and back down the stairs.</p><p>“Mum- Mum! I have to go, I’ve got company. Yeah. Okay. Bye.” Granger stepped into the hallway just as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “What were you doing up there?”</p><p>Potter hopped down the last step with a grin on his face. “Nothing.”</p><p>Immediately, Granger picked up a book from the counter inside the kitchen doorway and beat Potter on the shoulder with it.</p><p>“I just wanted to show him-”</p><p>“Liar! If you wanted to show him a CD player there’s one right in the sitting room you could’ve used. I told you to stay out of there, it’s my private space!”</p><p>Draco got the overwhelming feeling he was intruding on what was about to turn into a spat. Backing away slowly, he cleared his throat. “I’m going to go. Dog needs to be let out and all,” he muttered.</p><p>“Good job, Harry, now you’ve driven him off.”</p><p>“It’s not my fault if his dog-”</p><p>“Don’t be daft, he doesn’t have a dog. He used the same excuse the last two times.”</p><p>Draco vanished in a blur of green flames before he could correct her.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 27 June 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry and Hermione apparated to the front gate of the Burrow’s garden like they did every Sunday. The place was wild and more overgrown with vegetables than it had been the week prior, no doubt enhanced by some new magical fertilizer that Molly had gotten her hands on. Harry opened the gate and they approached the house. It was already noisy, but the Burrow was always noisy.</p><p>No one truly remembered where Molly’s Sunday dinners came from, although she insisted it was simply nice to have her children home together once in a while. Harry and Hermione, of course, counted among those ranks. Percy had moved back in and Ron had never left, but two was a far cry from the seven Molly had raised. The rest had trickled out in the last few years.</p><p>“Harry!” Molly cried, dropping her wand on the counter, and rushing to the door, arms outstretched.</p><p>Harry chuckled. “Hi, Molly.” He glanced at Hermione, an amused smile on his face as he was smothered with a mother’s love.</p><p>Ron was second, clapping Harry on the back while Hermione slipped into the sitting room to find Fleur.</p><p>“Ah, there you are,” Fleur beamed as Hermione sat down on the couch next to her, fingers drumming her belly to some tune. “He started kicking this week, so I have been kicking back.”</p><p>“So, you know it’s a boy?”</p><p>Fleur shrugged. “No, but I can hope. Bill wants another girl, but I’m hoping the baby is far enough from the Veela blood that I can have a little boy.”</p><p>“You know a muggle doctor could-”</p><p>“You know how I feel about them.”</p><p>Hermione’s mouth snapped shut. It still annoyed her that wizards had such a distrust of muggle doctors. The average wizard didn’t tend to get muggle illnesses, but refusing proper care for an unborn baby was just preposterous. Still, Hermione learned to not argue the matter, especially with Fleur.</p><p>“It’s not that I don’t think the muggle world can help,” Fleur continued, probably reading Hermione’s perturbed thinking expression as she always did, “but I am not entirely human, remember? Simply going would be a breach of the Statute. Besides, I think I am in very capable hands.” She nodded to Molly, who was shouting through the chaos of her sons in the kitchen.</p><p>Hermione chuckled at the sight. “I’m pretty sure if you pitted her against a muggle doctor, she would win.”</p><p>“Precisely.”</p><p>The two women giggled and Hermione put her head on Fleur’s shoulder. Hermione may not be a Weasley by blood, but Fleur was as good as a sister.</p><p>“Oi!” Ron shouted, walking into the room.</p><p>Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Oi what?”</p><p>Ron fell heavily into the third seat, taking Hermione’s other side. “What’s this I hear about you and Harry having tea with Draco bloody Malfoy? And why was I not invited?”</p><p>Fleur hummed. “Wasn’t he that boy-”</p><p>“Yes, he was that boy,” Hermione started, turning to Ron. “I ran into him last week. It was all so sudden and I knew Harry could play nice, but-”</p><p>Ron grinned. “Malfoy may be the world’s biggest prick, but I’m not.”</p><p>“Sometimes you are,” Fleur cut in with a flash of her pretty smile. With a heave, she stood up. “You two continue, I’m going to take another lap around the house.”</p><p>They waited until she was gone before each turning to face each other, sitting cross-legged on the couch. “I was going to tell you tonight if Harry hadn’t beat me to it, Ron.”</p><p>“I know. I’m just teasing.”</p><p>“Of course you are.”</p><p>“So, what was he like? What has the ferret been up to since his trial?”</p><p>Hermione shrugged. There wasn’t much to tell, really. Their conversations had never been exceptionally long, nor very personal. Draco and Harry had mostly discussed quidditch and other nonsense she had little interest in. “I didn’t ask for details. His mother is in Nice. He’s been clerking in the DMGS for a couple of years.”</p><p>“Clerking?” Ron snorted. “With all that money I thought he’d have just locked himself in that stupid Manor-”</p><p>“He’s not living there anymore.” Hermione pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. “I think he hates it as much as we do, Ron,” she continued in a whisper. “You remember how Voldemort treated his family towards the end. Harry said he was little more than a prisoner in there.”</p><p>Ron’s jaw dropped as he leaned back on the arm of the couch. “Are you really defending him?” he cried in an almost too loud voice that made her wince.</p><p>A small pout formed and she narrowed her eyes in a glare at her best friend. “If you’re going to be like that, then you can sod off and I’ll never invite you to tea.” She was trying to make an effort to befriend Draco, as insane as it sounded. She didn’t need Ron mucking it all up. “Harry and I are perfectly able to treat him civilly, I don’t see why you can’t. Besides, he was the one who let slip about Ginny.”</p><p>That one won him over. The whole Burrow was buzzing with the rumour of Ginny’s potential future on the Welsh National Team. Ron threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’m just not as easy to forgive as you and Harry, alright? And I’m still mad you left me out yesterday.”</p><p>Hermione reached out and shoved him a little with a laugh. “Oh, shut up. I know perfectly well that you were busy at the shop yesterday and couldn’t have come even if I’d begged.”</p><p>“True.”</p><p>“Saturday at four, then?”</p><p>Molly called for dinner and the pair wasted no time in taking their seats at the table. Hermione never ate as well during the week as she did Sunday nights here. She wasn’t a terrible cook, although she wasn’t amazing either, but Molly had a certain talent for these kinds of things.</p><p>Percy leaned over from his seat next to Hermione as the meal finished. He put a hand on her shoulder, keeping her from getting up to join the rest in the sitting room. “Hermione, I need to talk to you,” he whispered.</p><p>If Percy wanted to talk alone, it had to be Ministry-related. “Oh, Percy, can’t it wait until tomorrow at the office?” she whined. It was already late and she was ready to drop.</p><p>“No, it can’t.” He looked concerned.</p><p>Percy never looked concerned. This was something big.</p><p>“You remember Mundungus, right?”</p><p>“Of course,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes. “That little weasel caused the Order so much grief.”</p><p>Percy rubbed his eyes and leaned on the table. “Tomorrow morning, the Ministry is going to send out a memo alerting the whole staff of an incident that occurred late last week. The memo you’ll receive will only tell you that there’s been a large breach in the Statute and for all Ministry employees to be on the lookout for Mundungus. It won’t tell you what the breach was or the scale of it. We’re trying to keep it quiet, at least for now, until we figure out what to do, but I can’t in good conscience keep you in the dark. Promise me that you’ll keep this a secret, at least until the Ministry releases an official statement to the public. You can’t tell anyone who doesn’t work directly for the Ministry. Not Ron, not Harry, not Ginny. No one.”</p><p>Hermione’s heart began to race. Her tongue was heavy in her mouth as she spoke. “Why are you telling me now? Why not wait?”</p><p>“Because I know you’ll march up to my office and demand to know why I didn’t tell you before.”</p><p>He wasn’t wrong. “Fine, just tell me what’s going on. What was this incident and what does it have to do with Mundungus?”</p><p>Percy took a deep breath and laid his hands flat on the table, glancing nervously at the rest of the family in the next room. She followed his gaze to see Arthur looking back, an equally nervous look on his face. It occurred to Hermione that the Weasley father had purposefully gathered everyone and was keeping them busy to buy Percy time alone with her. After all, they didn’t socialize much on their own. It would’ve looked suspicious and after everything… Well, Hermione knew that whatever this was would worry Molly.</p><p>“Mundungus was caught on a muggle camera doing magic. He’s resisted arrest and is on the run. We have aurors hunting him down.”</p><p>Hermione’s stomach dropped and her mouth went dry.</p><p>“Something dangerous is happening in the Muggle world. Things are changing faster and faster. Muggles have this new portable telephone-”</p><p>“A cell phone,” she croaked out. “My father has one for work.”</p><p>“Yes, a cell phone. That’s what our informants called them.”</p><p>Hermione’s brow creased. Informants? Since when did-</p><p>“The Ministry has always kept a squib or two on the payroll, people who can answer questions about the Muggle world that even someone as close to it as you are may not be able to answer. My point is these new telephones have cameras in them. Some Muggle took a photo of Mundungus doing magic and put it on something called the internet.”</p><p>Hermione’s hands shot to her mouth to keep herself from shouting.</p><p>“By the time the Ministry learned of the breach, it had already been seen by thousands of Muggles across Europe and North America. Our informants say that most think it’s a camera trick or editing, but they also say that we can’t erase the picture permanently. Hermione, the Muggles have been busy for the last century and we can’t ignore the danger they pose anymore. It’s one thing for them to land on the bloody moon, it’s another for them to be carrying around cameras in their pockets.”</p><p>Hermione finally removed her hand from her mouth. “Percy, this is a disaster!” she whisper-shouted. “What is the DMAC doing about it?”</p><p>“They’re following protocol as best they can. They found the Muggle who took the picture and obliviated them, but that doesn’t change what’s happened and how many people have seen it. The Ministry is forming a special committee to decide what to do.”</p><p>“What to do?” A chill ran up her spine. She didn’t like where this was going at all.</p><p>Percy looked as panicked as she was. “The punishment for breaches of the Statute, even accidental ones, are already severe. Our informants say this will only happen again and again, that there’s no stopping it. That’s why it’s being kept quiet for now. Letting the whole of Wizarding Britain know that Muggles carry around cameras and can record anything they see at a moment’s notice will cause panic and that’s the last thing the Ministry needs.”</p><p>Scoffing, Hermione crossed her arms. “Only because wizards have refused to educate themselves on the Muggle world. We wouldn’t be in this mess if you were at all sensible and considered that maybe-”</p><p>Percy’s jaw tightened and he cut her off. “Some folks on the committee are saying that we may be forced even further into hiding in order to protect ourselves. This isn’t the first time a breach like this has happened. MACUSA has considered reinstating Rappaport’s after an incident last year and the Ministries on the continent are following a similar path after a series of incidents this spring. They’re going to start cracking down on Muggle interactions and I don’t think there’s much we can do to stop it. There’s a reason the Statute was written in the first place.”</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 7 July 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco stepped out of the cinema and into the warm, heavy air. Charing Cross was still bustling, even this late. Apparition wasn’t an option unless he walked back to the Cauldron, but that trip was nearly as long as it was to the park. And no one would throw him dirty looks at the park.</p><p>He made it half a block before a hand grabbed his shoulder and forcefully turned him around, startling him out of the post-film haze. The hand in his right pocket gripped his wand in a tight fist out of habit, but he managed to keep himself from pulling it.</p><p>It was Granger, of all people.</p><p>“What are you doing out here?” she asked.</p><p>“Merlin, Granger, you scared me,” Draco snapped in a low voice. “I nearly drew my wand.”</p><p>“What are you doing out here?” Granger asked again, one hand on her hip and the other holding what looked like an iced coffee.</p><p>He nodded in the direction he’d just come, slowly letting go of his wand, but keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. “I went to the cinema. I go almost every Wednesday.”</p><p>“The-” Granger sputtered. “Since when-”</p><p>“It’s a dark room where I can think about something other than my own life for once,” he grumbled, stepping away and back into the crowded street.</p><p>She adjusted the grip on her shopping bag and marched after him. “I simply assumed-”</p><p>“What?” He cut her off sharply, not bothering to slow his obviously too-quick pace for her. “That I must hate everything muggle because of who I am? I’ll have you know that most of my family’s money was gained through Muggle business dealings. Or perhaps was it that as a wizard I must know nothing about Muggles? Not all of us are Arthur Weasley.” He immediately regretted the jab at Weasley. It sounded like something his father would say and that alone was enough to make Draco want to vomit.</p><p>Granger stopped in her tracks. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she called after him. He could hear the anger in her voice. She’d used that tone a lot when they were in school.</p><p>Draco stopped, now several paces ahead of her, and hung his head. Muggles continued strolling down the pavement around them. He turned around and walked back to her, staring her down. He forgot how much taller he was than her. “That not all of us are so bloody uneducated on this world that we can’t function in it. All I mean is that it’s entirely possible I’ve come to prefer spending time out here rather than among our kind, Granger.”</p><p>That seemed to strike a chord with her, because her confused and indignant expression softened into something he wanted to call understanding. “Oh,” she said.</p><p>They started walking again, this time his pace slowed to hers. She was silent for an unbearably long time and he was tempted to drive her off with another snide remark, but he bit his tongue instead. He glanced over to see her staring directly. “What?”</p><p>She shrugged. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”</p><p>“By?”</p><p>“You.”</p><p>Well that wasn’t an answer, he grumbled silently. He stared at his feet as they walked onwards, carried down the street with the bustling crowd. “I like walking around Muggle London because no one gives me a second thought. I like the feeling of being nobody.”</p><p>He glanced over again to see her visibly swallow. “That’s why I went to university, actually.”</p><p>“Right,” he breathed. His heart sped up a little. Was he actually having an almost personal conversation with Granger? It felt wrong, but it was so far the longest conversation he’d had all day and part of him didn’t really want it to end.</p><p>“Everyone had such high expectations for me after the war. McGonagall gave me permission to study for my NEWTs from home—I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to Hogwarts so soon—and I figured I might as well catch up on my Muggle studies while I was at it.” She took a deep breath. “I did very well on my NEWTs, of course, and everyone was saying I’d do great things at the Ministry and one day I could be Minister for Magic and I panicked. I applied to a programme at Oxford and they accepted me thinking I was some home-schooled student and I took the place they offered me. I got to be simply Hermione Granger, the odd girl with the stick in her hair who everyone borrowed notes from.”</p><p>Draco let out half a chuckle. “Sounds like you. I saw the pictures on your mantle. It looked like fun.”</p><p>She looked up at him for the first time, a faint smile on her face. “It was. I studied sociology—people and society, that is—and got to be normal. I don’t think I did magic for a year and a half while I was there.”</p><p>A year and a half with no magic? Draco pulled a hand out of his pocket and rubbed his forehead, trying to wrap his mind around such a feat.</p><p>“I had no need,” she explained. “I grew up a Muggle, so it’s not like it was all that foreign to me. Think about it. Aside from what we did as homework or in class, did we do all that much magic on our own time at Hogwarts? Everything was provided for us. Uni was no different.”</p><p>He guessed she was right. He couldn’t imagine not using magic every day, even for little things. It was all he’d known.</p><p>“Of course, I had to make my own bed and-”</p><p>“I dismissed them, Granger.” He knew what she was implying. He’d made enough fun of her crusade in school to remember it even now. “There was no point in them cleaning an abandoned house that I’ve got half a mind to burn to the ground.” He paused. “I’ve scrubbed that place roof to cellar in every way I can imagine but there’s still a stain I can’t get rid of. Too many bad memories, I suppose. A lot happened in that house that I wish I could forget.”</p><p>“I know,” she mumbled.</p><p>They continued in silence for another block. A jumble of memories filled him. The same room where he’d gone a little too fast on his first broomstick and lost control, crashing into a priceless vase and shattering it, was the same room where Voldemort had repeatedly tortured him after his failure to complete the mission during sixth year. Voldemort had spat in his face saying that he would not have another Regulus, that Draco was too weak to bear the mark.</p><p>Draco’s stomach roiled and he took a slow, deep breath.</p><p>“So where are you headed?” Granger asked, changing the subject with a heavy sigh.</p><p>He was thankful for the diversion. “The nearest park so that I can apparate home. You?”</p><p>Granger held up the bags in her hand. “My mother’s birthday is next week and it took me all evening to pick out a present, so I got takeaway.”</p><p>“And coffee,” he added, nodding at the cup in her hand.</p><p>“Oh. Yes.” She looked at the cup, as though she’d forgotten she was holding it. “And coffee. I never asked, but where do you actually live if you’re not at the Manor?”</p><p>His stomach turned. Did he really want Granger knowing where he lived? She looked up at him expectantly, waiting for an answer as she took a sip from her coffee. “My family owns a townhouse here in London.”</p><p>Granger made an almost surprised sound.</p><p>Draco had never liked the townhouse as a child. There wasn’t room to fly his broomstick more than a few metres before running into a wall, unlike the Manor and its spacious grounds. It was in the middle of the oldest wizarding squares in London, down on the Strand. The first Malfoys and the Averys had founded it centuries ago, before the Statute, when meddling in the Muggle royal court was popular and one needed a townhouse in addition to lands in the country. The area had grown over the years and a few houses changed hands as fortunes waned. The Crouch residence had been sold off only a couple of decades ago. And, of course, a few of the families had died out, leaving the houses to distant relations. Father had lamented multiple times that the area had been polluted by lesser families—those who weren’t old Slytherin families.</p><p>“Why? Where did you think I lived?” he added.</p><p>Granger shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I never really thought about it. Seems silly to own two houses like that, though.”</p><p>“It’s from an era prior to the Statute. We had no titles per se, but we behaved like any other courtier, which included having a residence here in London.” They crossed the street and arrived at the corner of his destination, the wet and earthy smell of the park a blissful change from the stench of the city. “This is my stop,” he announced.</p><p>“I suppose it is.”</p><p>He glanced at her awkwardly. There was a certain lightness in his chest that was fading. Was he sad that their conversation was over? “I’ll see you Saturday?”</p><p>“Of course.” She gave him half a smile and a wave and then slowly backed away, receding into the flow of people once again.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 18 July 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Can we go in? Can we? Please?” Teddy begged, tugging on Harry’s arm in an attempt to drag the group into Fortescue’s.</p><p>“No, Teddy, we’re on our way to see Ron and George, remember?” Harry slowed himself and the child to a stop. “We’ll be late if we stop for ice cream.”</p><p>Hermione always marvelled at the patience Harry had for Teddy. The boy had inherited his mother’s metamorphmagus abilities, as well as her boundless energy. It was really a miracle that Andromeda could keep up with him on her own.</p><p>“Besides,” Harry continued, crouching to Teddy’s level, “if you fill up on ice cream how will you eat dinner?”<br/><br/>“I’ll make more room,” Teddy replied with the utmost confidence.</p><p>Hermione stifled a laugh, a small snort coming out instead.</p><p>Teddy eventually agreed to keep walking, although he wore a little pout as they wound their way further into the Alley. As exhausting as he was, Hermione did enjoy having Teddy around. Andromeda had agreed to raise him, Harry being too young and unprepared to fulfil his role as godfather to such an extent. But when he was home during the summers, Teddy would join Molly’s Sunday dinners every other week, and of course Harry would take him on day trips in the interim.</p><p>“Did you tell Hermione about what you did yesterday?” Harry urged, nudging the six-year-old in her direction.</p><p>Crouching just a little as they walked, she took Teddy’s free hand. “What’s this I hear?”</p><p>Teddy looked up, beaming. “I flew a whole lap around the garden without falling off once!”</p><p>With an overly excited smile, Hermione congratulated him. “Oh, that’s so wonderful! You’re already a much better flyer than I am.”</p><p>“That’s a low threshold to cross,” Harry muttered, a smirk on his face.</p><p>Hermione was in the middle of shooting him a withering glare when Teddy ripped his hands out of theirs and took off.</p><p>“Uncle Draco!” he shouted, his little arms flying as he collided with a pair of legs standing in front of the window to Quality Quidditch Supplies and clung to them.</p><p>Hermione rushed over, Harry on her heels, but to her surprise, Draco looked down and smiled, picking up the child.</p><p>“What are you doing here, Teddy?” Draco asked as the pair came to a stop. “Ah.” His smile vanished and he set Teddy down.</p><p>The child looked between the three. “Uncle Draco, do you know them?”</p><p>Panic filled his expression for a second and he forced a laugh. “Yes, I do know Harry and Hermione.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“Come on, Teddy, we don’t want to be late,” Harry urged. There was a certain unease in his eyes that didn't escape Hermione's notice.</p><p>“Can Uncle Draco come to dinner? He’s one of your friends, right?”</p><p>Hermione did her best to sound sad as she lied to Teddy. “No, Teddy, I think Draco has other plans tonight.”</p><p>“I’ll see you on Friday like always, alright?” Draco cut in, finally. “You go have fun with them.”</p><p>Harry began to pull Teddy away, but Hermione stayed put. “I’ll be right behind you,” she mouthed, waving the pair onwards.</p><p>Once they were out of earshot, Draco spoke. “Did you really think I’d accept the invitation?” he chuckled.</p><p>“No, but you can’t exactly tell a six-year-old what our relationship really is.”</p><p>“And what’s that?” He crossed his arms, looking down at the ground.</p><p>He did that a lot, she’d noticed. It was a far cry from the way he strutted around Hogwarts like he owned the place. Crossing her own arms, she tilted her head. “Former enemies, now friends.”</p><p>The word friend brought a faint smile to his face. It was a nice look for him.</p><p>“So how do you know Teddy?” Hermione asked, stepping back towards the street. He followed, thankfully. She didn’t want to be late.</p><p>“His grandmother is my aunt, Granger, do you really think I wouldn’t know my own blood?” He sounded almost annoyed.</p><p>“No, I simply didn’t think you spoke to Andromeda. She cut all ties with the Black family and I assumed you counted in that.”</p><p>“Oh, I did.” He looked up at her briefly. “She reached out to me after I returned to the country. My father was in prison, my mother was all but estranged… I think Andromeda pitied me. Teddy was still young enough that she could introduce me as Uncle Draco and he didn’t ask questions. Now I have dinner with them every Friday.”</p><p>“That’s wonderful,” was all she could come up with. “So, you’re why we don’t get Teddy on Christmas anymore?”</p><p>Draco nodded. “I’m surprised she didn’t explain. She’s usually very forthcoming about these things. She told me right away that Harry was the godfather and that he had final custody should anything happen, even though I’m about as close in blood as one can get to the kid. Not that I particularly care. I’d make a shit godfather anyway.”</p><p>“Harry is more fun and comes with a lot more family,” she teased.</p><p>He groaned, pulling a hand from his pocket to rub his jaw. “Low blow, Granger.”</p><p>Her stomach sank a little. “It was only a joke…”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Crossing her arms, Hermione fumbled for a change in topic. Thankfully, Draco provided one.</p><p>“I never asked, but why are you working in the Ministry Archives? I’d have expected you to go into the CMC department given your activities in school.”</p><p>Hermione let out a heavy sigh and uncrossed her arms, swinging them as she tried to come up with a suitable answer. “Probably the same reason you’re in the DMGS? I always liked libraries-”</p><p>“The Archives are the worst library, Granger.”</p><p>“I know, I know, I hate it so much,” she laughed, covering her face with her hands. “Every hour I spend down there is infuriating.”</p><p>He shook his head, half joining her laughter. “Why not transfer? At the risk of sounding like every professor we had, you’re the brightest witch of our age. You said yourself that you scored well on your NEWTs. Why not apply for auror training or a position in the Minister’s offices?”</p><p>Her face warmed at the compliment and she began to chew on her thumbnail as he spoke. It was one she’d heard a thousand times, but it was nice to hear it coming from him. “I told you, everyone expected so much of me. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Harry had just taken up his position at Hogwarts and Ron had settled into the shop ages ago, and I just…” She let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I figured I could spend a few months there and figure things out, but here I am two years later still cursing my way through every record request.”</p><p>“I still can’t believe Potter is the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor,” Draco said with a smirk. “I thought he’d go on to be some great auror.”</p><p>“We all did, actually.” Hermione rolled her eyes and re-crossed her arms. Why was she fidgeting so much? She never had this much trouble finding a place for her hands. “He took some time away, did a bit of traveling and advanced training, and then when he came back Kingsley offered him a job. Harry almost took it, but then McGonagall dropped by for tea entirely unannounced and half an hour later Harry was the new professor. I don’t know what she said to him, but he’s happier there than I think he ever would’ve been working for the Ministry. He always called Hogwarts home.” She drifted off, her voice growing softer. Sometimes she envied Harry’s blissful love of the place. She’d been back to the castle exactly once since the end of the war, and it was to take her NEWTs. Ron would visit frequently, but Hermione still couldn’t bear to walk the halls again. There were too many ghosts, and not the delightful kind Hogwarts was known for.</p><p>Draco carried on the conversation for her. “You know, If you went back ten years and asked me if it was more likely that I’d be estranged from my mother or that I’d happily spend an afternoon chatting with you, I would’ve without a doubt said the former.</p><p>“I had no idea you hated me that much in school,” Hermione replied dryly.</p><p>He nodded. “I despised you in school, most certainly. I was furious that I was always second place no matter how hard I tried. But you have to admit, I was the best at getting Potter and Weasley in trouble.”</p><p>“I think they did that perfectly well enough on their own.” She rolled her eyes. “I spent half my time trying to keep them from getting expelled.”</p><p>“You did always have the coolest head of the three.” He hummed for a moment. “I think that’s what made you the most terrifying.”</p><p>Brow creased sharply, Hermione turned to look at Draco. “Terrifying?” She was caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.</p><p>A grin formed on his face as he again glanced over at her quickly before returning his gaze to the ground. “The twenty-third of April 1994,” he began, “you slapped me across the face so hard it left a bruise. I probably would’ve ended up in the hospital wing if Potter and Weasley hadn’t gotten hold of you long enough for me to run. Anyone who takes three whole years to finally snap, especially given all that I’d done to you in that time, was someone to be feared.”</p><p>Hermione remembered the moment fondly. “I was pretty proud of that slap. You had it coming.”</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>He looked up again, and this time she managed to catch his eyes and hold them for an extra few moments. Her chest lightened and she took a deep breath. “So, are you still terrified of me?”</p><p>“Even more so.” He came to a stop and then stepped back. “I do believe we’ve arrived.”</p><p>Hermione broke her stare and realized they were standing in front of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Harry, Ron, and George were all lingering in the window, watching with delighted fascination. A few seconds after she caught them, they scattered, disappearing further into the shop. “I’ll, er, see you later,” she muttered, lowering her head and rushing to the door to hide the way her face burned.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 24 July 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco’s vision blurred as he stared at the chaotic pile of parchment scraps covering the table in his spare room. What could he be missing? A stripped-down wireless sat off to the side. He’d combed through every enchantment on that thing and replicated them on the pair of earmuffs, but it still wasn’t working. He rubbed his eyes. They were dry and itchy from all the dust in the air, but that’s what he got for filling the room with dusty old books on the fundamental theories of magic. As much as he hated the Manor, it did have a good library and he’d been loath to leave it behind.</p><p>Checking his watch, his heart began to pound. Merlin, he was late. It was already half past four. By now he’d expected Granger to send him a howler, berating him for his tardiness.</p><p>He patted his pockets, making sure everything was in them. He’d taken to carrying Muggle money everywhere, just as he always had a handful of galleons in his other pocket. Only once had he gotten the two pockets mixed up, but it must have been his lucky day because the clerk didn’t seem to pay attention to the handful of bright, golden coins Draco had pulled out.</p><p>Draco stopped briefly in front of the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair, neatening it up. It was getting a little long. He should’ve had Andromeda cut it last night. There was always next week.</p><p>He paused as he stepped into the fireplace. Since when had he started caring about his appearance when he went to tea with Granger and the lot?</p><p>A pinch of powder later and he was dusting himself off in Granger’s sitting room. “Will you ever clean that thing?” he grumbled, trying his best not to track ashes all over the carpet.</p><p>“Probably not,” Weasley laughed. “I don’t think she’s ever cleaned it.”</p><p>Granger scoffed. “Please, like I’m going to spend an hour sweeping and scrubbing that thing clean.”</p><p>“How many times do I have to remind you that you’re a bloody witch!”</p><p>Draco sank into his usual chair—when did he start having a usual?—and poured himself a cup of room temperature tea. His punishment for being late, he supposed.</p><p>Granger waved her hand. “It’s too much of a bother to turn off the electricity and clean it with a spell.”</p><p>“What happened to you never being late?” Harry asked brightly.</p><p>Fumbling for words, Draco grimaced as he swallowed the cold tea. “I, er, got caught up working on a project.”</p><p>Hermione hummed, leaning forward and putting her chin on her fists. “Are you going to share what this project is or will we have to guess?”</p><p>“Let the man have his secrets, Hermione,” Ron teased as he leaned back and crossed his feet on the table. “We’ve been having a marvellous time in your absence.”</p><p>Hermione leaned over and smacked Ron on the shoulder. “Don’t say that, we were all worried when you didn’t show up.”</p><p>Harry cut in again, shouting over them. “No, no, Hermione was the only one who was worried. Ron and I figured you had a perfectly good reason for deserting us.”</p><p>Draco chuckled. “I’m keen to hear what you thought kept me.”</p><p>“They were convinced that for some reason the Harpies had been suddenly disqualified from the European Championship and you were too scared to show up because it would mean telling us,” Hermione explained.</p><p>“Hardly. The Harpies are a favourite to win.”</p><p>Draco glanced continually over at Granger as the conversation turned towards quidditch yet again. It happened often, but in all fairness the European Championship was big news in the world of magical sports. It had been a few seasons since any of their teams had qualified, let alone three at once. Puddlemere United had dropped out after the second round, the Wasps the round after. But the Harpies were on their way to winning the cup and everyone in Britain knew it.</p><p>He felt a little sorry for her. She didn’t follow quidditch, but it seemed to be out of stubbornness more than anything else. After a few minutes, she started to clean up the small spread he’d missed out on and disappeared into the kitchen. She didn’t return until half an hour later, now reading a book as she walked. As much as he wanted to pay attention to what Potter and Weasley were saying, he watched as she navigated the room, cleaning up and organizing the place without ever taking her eyes off the page. Draco realized he was staring and forced himself to look away and re-join the conversation.</p><p>It wasn’t until the fireplace abruptly flashed with green flames that anyone realized how late it was.</p><p>A redheaded woman stepped out, dusting herself off forcefully. “Merlin’s pants, Hermione, are you ever going to clean that thing?” She looked up and saw him, her bemused expression turning suspicious.</p><p>It was the Weasley girl, he realized. She was a lot taller than he remembered. An awkward silence filled the room. “Er… hi?” he said, adding a single wave of the hand.</p><p>“You know what? I don’t really care.” She shrugged and walked over to Harry, leaning over to plant a kiss on him.</p><p>The Weasley brother made a disgusted noise, to which his sister replied with a vulgar hand gesture. For a moment, Draco almost wished he’d had a sibling. He’d been introduced to Pansy, Theo, and the Greengrass girls at an early age, but their families were part of his own family’s social circle and nothing more. Forced friendships, as it were. They were all bound for Slytherin anyway, and there was no doubt that their parents fully expected a marriage or two out of the group. Merlin forbid any of them lose that stupid blood status.</p><p>Granger wandered back into the room at the sound of the Weasley girl’s arrival. “Oh, Ginny!” she cried. “Is it already time to leave?”</p><p>“Time flies when you’re talking quidditch players who can’t,” Ron joked, resulting in resounding laughter from Potter.</p><p>Draco only managed a chuckle as he pushed himself up from the seat. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave.”</p><p>“Why don’t you join us?”</p><p>Granger’s question sounded so innocent, but Draco didn’t miss the grimace that flashed across the Weasley girls’ face.</p><p>Crossing her arms with a huff, Granger looked sharply between her friends before turning back to him. “Neville and Luna are back in the country. They both just finished a year-long research programme in South Africa and we’re all excited to hear what they’ve been up to.”</p><p>“Besides getting married,” the Weasley girl interjected.</p><p>Harry gaped. “They what?!”</p><p>“Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell you.” The Weasley girl stomped her foot. “That’s what this whole mystery dinner is. It’s not really even dinner, it’s a whole party. Luna asked me to set it up, I’ve invited so many people I’ve lost count.”</p><p>Draco shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I really can’t stay,” he started. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your reunion.”</p><p>Granger marched over, waving her hand. “Oh, don’t be silly. You’re a friend and friends invite friends to parties with other friends.”</p><p>Weasley hopped to his feet. “That settles it. Now where were we going?”</p><p>“Neville’s,” his sister replied, helping Potter from his seat. “His grandmother agreed to spend the evening with Mum.</p><p>Granger leaned closer, startling Draco. When had she ended up next to him?</p><p>“You will come, won’t you?” she whispered.</p><p>“I, er…” Words wouldn’t come.</p><p>“You won’t be intruding at all, if that’s what you’re worried about. If Ginny really did invite even half our friends from school then the place will be packed and, quite honestly, I despise parties. They always make me miserable and I end up sulking in the corner anyway. It’d be nice to have someone to sulk with me.”</p><p>Draco nodded, glancing quickly over at her. “Sure.”</p><p>Granger made sure to floo just before he did, and was waiting on the other side as he stepped out. The house was already bustling, and while most of the guests did double-takes as he walked by, it didn’t seem to bother him.</p><p>“Congratulations,” Granger cried, hugging both Longbottom and Lovegood. “I hope you don’t mind, but Draco was over for tea and we lost track of time, so I invited him along.”</p><p>Longbottom’s jaw went slack. <em>Way to go, Granger</em>, Draco thought.</p><p>“Lovely to see you again, Draco.” Lovegood stepped in, holding out her delicate little hand. “Last I heard you were in Italy. How was it?”</p><p>Blinking rapidly, Draco struggled to form a response. He had been in Italy, yes. After his trial and his mother’s departure, he had fled to the continent for an extended vacation. It was where he’d first found his liking for wandering Muggle cities. Wizarding communities, even in places like Paris or Rome, were small the way wizarding London was. Just a few hidden squares and alleys to compare with the massive cathedrals and palaces of the Muggle world. “It was lovely,” he finally forced out, shaking her hand. “I miss the food.”</p><p>“The food is delightful there,” Lovegood mused in her dreamy little voice. “I’ve always wanted to go truffle hunting. There’s a certain subspecies of fairy that only lay their eggs inside the truffles found outside of Milan.”</p><p>Draco was ushered along before he could reply, newly arrived guests clamouring to congratulate the newlyweds. Hermione vanished into the crowd and he panicked for a moment. He was surrounded by former classmates who, if he was being honest with himself, probably hadn’t cared to know if he was even alive in years. His whereabouts had certainly been a topic of discussion for the first month or so if Lovegood had known about Italy, but…</p><p>Granger reappeared with two glasses of wine in her hand. “I hope you like red. I have to make my rounds. I’ve been avoiding answering a letter from Susan for a month now and I just saw her in the hall. If I’m not back in ten minutes, she’s probably hexed me,” she said before disappearing again. Draco wandered around, slipping through the crowd. It was a nice little house. After giving himself a tour, he ended up sitting on the back steps, staring out at the garden.</p><p>It was nearly half an hour before Granger returned.</p><p>“There you are.” She hopped down the steps and took a seat next to him. “I thought you’d escaped. More wine?”</p><p>“Sure.” He held out his glass and she poured some of hers into it, although her glass never emptied a drop. “One good thing about magic,” he chuckled. “The bottle never runs dry.”</p><p>“You can say that again,” Granger leaned back and took a large swig from her glass. “It’s been less than an hour and I already want to go home. I was so much more excited for tonight when I thought it would be a quiet dinner party where I could hear about Neville’s research or Luna’s latest creature hunt. Instead, I could swear I’m back in the Gryffindor common room just after Harry had completed the first tournament trial fourth year. The party went all night long. I think McGonagall gave up on us sometimes around February every year when it came to the noise. I’m sure she’s thrilled to be Headmistress now.”</p><p>“Snape was about as strict as one could get. We won the Quidditch Cup first year and he had all of us in bed by the time the sun went down.”</p><p>“Not that you could see it down there in the dungeon.”</p><p>Draco nodded with a smile. “Of course, not that we could see it.” He paused. “How is it that you’re best friends with Potter and Weasley and yet you don’t care for quidditch? Weasley’s sister is on a professional team.”</p><p>She shrugged. “It never interested me. I never liked sports, even the Muggle ones. I was always so terrible at them in primary school. I’ll go to Ginny’s games sometimes, and I went to the World Cup because it was a once in a lifetime experience until-” She cut herself off, snapping her mouth shut quickly. “My point is,” she continued after taking another sip of wine, “I simply have other interests. I like books and learning.”</p><p>Scoffing, Draco set his glass down. “Oh, come on, Granger, there’s got to be more than that.”</p><p>“Why do you still call me that?” Granger looked over at him, nose scrunched up. “You always called us by our last names.”</p><p>He shrugged, avoiding meeting her gaze by staring intently at his outstretched legs. “Habit, I suppose. The way I grew up, your family name mattered more than your given name. Referring to someone by their given name was an intimate thing. Only for the closest friends and family.”</p><p>“Hm, I suppose so,” she replied with a wry smile.</p><p>Her teasing tone made his mouth go dry. He braved a glance at her, hair piled on top of her head and stuck through with her wand. It was a good look for her, he realized, although he wasn’t sure why it was even something he was contemplating.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 4 August 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione rolled out of bed, her eyes blurry with sleep, and slipped on her robe before trudging down to the kitchen. Dawn had just broken, casting most of the house in a half-light. She yawned as she entered the kitchen, confused to see Harry sitting at the table.</p><p>“What are you doing awake?” she mumbled.</p><p>“It’s the European League Cup Championship, remember?” Harry nursed his cup of tea and then gestured to the full pot on the counter. “I made enough.”</p><p>Hermione nodded, rubbing her eyes. She pulled a mug from the rack and poured herself a drink before sitting down across from Harry at the little table. “How did the notification go? You didn’t come back until after I’d gone to bed.”</p><p>Spinning his cup, Harry sighed. “I went to Ron’s afterwards to cool off. It wasn’t great, Hermione.”</p><p>A few sips in, her head was starting to clear. “What happened?”</p><p>“It was like looking into a mirror. Or, back in time. I don’t know. The poor kid doesn’t have good parents. They’re about as bad as the Dursleys were, if I’m being honest. She looked half-starved.”</p><p>Oh no. “How did the parents take it?” That was always the key question when it came to notifying Muggle families of their children’s abilities. The kids always take to it with delight. What child wouldn’t want to be told they have magic and get to attend a magnificent school where they’ll learn to do all sorts of tricks? She had been positively thrilled when Professor Sinistra, with her long hair braided and speckled what looked like real stars and a cloak that shimmered like the northern lights, showed up on the doorstep to explain that Hermione was a witch.</p><p>Harry’s experience had been a little different, from what he’d said of it. He never spoke too much about the Dursleys, but it didn’t take much to know that it had been a lot worse than he ever let on.</p><p>“They denied it. They said that Eleanor wasn’t special and didn’t have magic and went on and on saying that there was no such thing. When I pulled out my wand to prove I wasn’t some quack I was tempted to silence them then and there and just take the kid. I didn’t, though. Last thing I need is for the Muggle police to name me a kidnapper. I’ve already been on enough wanted posters for a lifetime.”</p><p>Hermione took it in quietly. That poor child. It happened now and then, she supposed.</p><p>“It’s people like them and the Dursleys that give Muggles a bad name, you know?”</p><p>“Of course…” Her stomach turned and she got up quickly, turning on the stove and pulling out a pan and eggs.</p><p>The chair creaked as Harry turned. “Hermione, is something wrong?”</p><p>She closed her eyes. It had been a little over a month since Percy had told her about the incident with Mundungus. He was still at large, but at least now the public knew what had happened. The Ministry had given their statement last week, confirming the rumours that had circulated the wireless and the Prophet for weeks now about Muggles carrying cameras in their pockets and having a way to communicate across the planet like, well, magic. That alone invited panic. The handful of Muggleborn witches and wizards Hermione knew were doing the best they could to keep their friends calm, but it was no use.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Hermione cracked an egg. “MACUSA is reintroducing Rappaport’s to the floor on Friday for debate,” she said. “Percy told me on Sunday.”</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“Because of the incidents, Harry.” She cracked another egg.</p><p>“Mundungus? He’s been caught doing worse in front of Muggles before, I-”</p><p>“It’s not just him.” She turned around, pulling her robe tighter and crossing her arms. “Four in America, two in France, eight in Japan, and one in Australia. And those are just the ones we know of. The Ministry has a special committee to decide how we should react, but if MACUSA passes the law, the Wizengamot may do the same.”</p><p>“That’s ridic-”</p><p>Hermione turned back to her eggs, scraping them up with a spatula and setting them on a plate. “Harry, Wizards don’t know the first thing about Muggles or their technology. Ignorance breeds suspicion and fear, you know that as well as I do. MACUSA only repealed that law, what, forty years ago? And in that time, there have been more breaches of the Statute than in the previous two hundred years combined.”</p><p>“But that’s how America has always been. The Wizengamot, or any of the European Ministries, for that matter, wouldn’t enact a law as strict as that. It would never pass.”</p><p>“Want to bet on that?” she asked, mouth full of eggs. “Percy says that the French and Japanese Ministries already have laws drafted. If half of the continent makes it illegal to fraternize with a Muggle, do you really think the Wizengamot is going to do anything different? They’re going to make us choose, Harry.”</p><p>The fireplace in the next room flashed green, the light spilling through the kitchen doorway.</p><p>“Morning,” Ron said, a cheery smile on his face, but it faded when he saw the glum expression she and Harry wore. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Hermione muttered before shoving the rest of her breakfast into her mouth.</p><p>Harry gave her a concerned look. “Just talking about some Ministry business,” he added.</p><p>Sometimes Hermione envied Ron. He had never known anything other than the wizarding world. He had never had to come home during the summer and lie to her friends from primary school about where she’d been or what she’d been up to. He just got to go home and everything was still magical.</p><p>She got up to wash her dishes and the sitting room flashed green again. She didn’t turn around as Draco walked in.</p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>“Of course,” Harry replied, his chair creaked again as he stood up.</p><p>Two sets of footsteps left the kitchen, but one approached her.</p><p>“I brought an extra ticket, if you want to join,” Draco said.</p><p>Hermione scrubbed harder than necessary at the pan. “You know I don’t care for quidditch.” It was a nice gesture. Too nice, really. She knew how many strings he’d pulled to get the two for Harry and Ron. Ginny only had so many tickets for her family and friends and, well, the Weasleys were a large family. Draco had offered to take care of Harry and Ron.</p><p>“The Harpies haven’t made it to the Cup finals in over a century and one of your best friends is on the team. Are you really sure you-”</p><p>“I said I don’t like quidditch.” Hermione snapped, turning to glare at him. He looked scared for a moment, although that might have just been a reaction to how terrible she always looked in the morning. Her friends at university used to joke that she looked like some evil witch when she woke up, that all she needed was a black pointy hat and a cauldron. The joke was on them, though. Both of those very things had been tucked under her bed at her parents’ house. Hermione wiped her hands dry on her robe and brushed past Draco and made for the hall. “Besides, I have a meeting today.”</p><p>Draco followed her. “So what if you don’t like quidditch? You said yourself that you went to the World Cup because it was a once in a lifetime experience. Why is this any different? It’s a day away from the Archives and with your friends. A day with…” he trailed off.</p><p>With him, she finished in her head. Hermione stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She did want to spend time with him. Some small part of her was starting to hate having Harry and Ron around when Draco came to visit. It was silly, but she wanted him to herself. She shared so much with the boys and, well, she’d been the first to reconnect with him. It didn’t seem fair that a month and a half later she’d only really gotten a handful of good conversations with him. She’d spent the whole of Neville and Luna’s party sitting on the back step with Draco and it had been the best party she’d attended in years.</p><p>Logically, she knew what that feeling was. But it was <em>Draco</em>. She had too many other things to worry about with this whole Statute disaster. She didn’t need to complicate things any further. Besides, she was already grumpy. She’d be no fun today and there was no use in ruining everyone else’s day.</p><p>“Maybe next time.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 21 August 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I do apologize for being a day late. I had to take my car in for repairs yesterday and, alas, adult responsibilities overtook my life all day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I really appreciate you helping out,” Potter said as they climbed the steps to 12 Grimmauld Place.</p><p>Draco had apparently been to the house before as a young child. After her husband and Regulus’s deaths, Draco’s great-aunt Walburga never left the house. As a pureblood Black, even if only through his mother, Draco of course had been brought for the old woman to adore. They visited regularly until her death, but he remembered none of it beyond a vague familiarity with the house.</p><p>Inhaling sharply, Draco pulled himself away from the reminiscing. “Of course,” he replied, stepping over the threshold.</p><p>“It took me months to get rid of a lot of the traps and enchantments the Order put on this place. I would’ve just asked Hermione to do it, but she was still at university,” Potter whispered. “I still manage to find something every year when I come to clean, though, so watch your step.”</p><p>Draco looked around cautiously. “Why are we whispering?” he asked.</p><p>“That curtain over there,” Potter pointed. “Walburga’s portrait is permanently stuck to the wall. If we keep quiet in the hallway, she’ll be fine, but make a noise and all she does is scream and call me a dirty half-blood.”</p><p>“Ah.” Good to know the Black family legacy of vitriol had somehow managed to live on.</p><p>Once up the first flight of stairs, Potter continued on at regular volume. “I generally start at the top and work my way down.”<br/><br/></p><p>“Sure,” Draco answered absentmindedly. “Where did the house elf go?” He couldn’t remember the elf’s name, but he knew there had been one.</p><p>“Kreacher?”</p><p>Draco nodded. “That was his name.”</p><p>“Sent him to Hogwarts. I don’t live here and there’s no sense in keeping him cooped up all alone.”</p><p>Fair enough, Draco decided. He’d simply dismissed the Manor’s house elves. They had probably trickled out to other families, maybe one or two of them made it up to Hogwarts. He still remembered Father coming home after the incident with Dobby at the end of second year. Father was furious for days afterwards, shouting and kicking the rest of them. Mother had stepped in at one point, though it was only to say that it was perhaps best not to injure their staff if they wanted anything to get done.</p><p>Draco fondled the serpentine carvings as they ascended through the house. The Blacks had always been a little more fanatical than the Malfoys when it came to their love of Slytherin. The Malfoy townhouse had no such decorations. It was plain in comparison, he supposed. “I’m surprised you haven’t torn half of this stuff out,” he whispered, nodding to the house elf heads on the wall.</p><p>Potter shrugged. “I hate most of it, but I haven’t had the will to get rid of it. Too much work if I’m not planning on living here anytime soon. Besides, I don’t know what’s valuable.” They reached the first floor and his voice raised a little. “Kreacher saved a number of things Sirius tried to throw out. After he left for Hogwarts, I cleared out his nest and put anything that looked valuable in a kitchen drawer, if you want to look. You’re half a Black, you’ll appreciate it more than I will.”</p><p>Half a Black, indeed. The attic was hot and dusty, but the cramped space was quick to clean. The fourth floor, like most of the upper floors, only had a couple of bedrooms. Potter opened the door to the first without a thought, but Draco stood at the doorway. The interior was a mess of red and gold, the walls plastered in both wizarding and Muggle posters.</p><p>“Something wrong?” Potter asked, standing in the middle of the crimson rug with his wand at his side.</p><p>Draco’s mouth went dry and he took a slow, cautious step into the room. “I never knew my cousin,” he started, looking around. “I wish I had.”</p><p>Potter put away his wand and sighed. “Sirius was the closest thing I had to a family.”</p><p>“What about the Weasleys?”</p><p>“It’s different with them. Sirius was… he was a lot like what I imagine my actual father would’ve been like, had he lived.”</p><p>Draco picked up a photograph and ran his thumb over it. Sirius was pictured, as were his other Gryffindor friends. It wasn’t hard to spot Potter’s father. “After <em>he</em> came back, my aunt was rabid about my destiny to serve at his side. She and my father both, actually. My mother was less enthusiastic.” Draco’s chest pounded. He hadn’t thought about the argument in years, but it was still so fresh in his mind. “I came home for Easter our fifth year and I overheard the three of them arguing. I later figured out it was over my mission sixth year, but at the time I had no idea. Bellatrix thought I was proving too soft, and that he didn’t want another Regulus. My mother screamed that I was still young and she would rather I follow in Sirius’s footsteps and live than Regulus’s and be killed. Mother never really got over Regulus’s death, I think. She was close with him.”</p><p>Silence hung for a moment. “I had no idea,” Potter finally said.</p><p>Setting the photograph down, Draco planted his hands on the carved foot of the bed and dug his nails into the wood. “No one had ever really mentioned Sirius before. Mother spoke of Aunt Andromeda often, but it was always in a sad way, like she’d died.”</p><p>“Sirius was in Azkaban for murder in Voldemort’s name, didn’t your mother-”</p><p>“No, I don’t think she knew.” Draco didn’t have to hear the rest of the question to know what it was. “I don’t think any of them knew what really happened. They all saw him as mad anyway, perhaps they thought he’d murdered Peter out of revenge. I never asked. But for her to invoke his name… I don’t know, I got scared. Very little gets my mother as angry as she was then, I knew Bellatrix and my Father wanted me to do something that might get me killed.” Hanging his head, Draco groaned. “I have a lot of regrets, Potter, but not getting to know Nymphadora and Sirius are the biggest.”</p><p>“He would’ve loved to hear from you,” Potter said. “They both would’ve. Sirius offered to take me in, actually. He said that I could live with him and never go back to the Dursleys. I found out later it wouldn’t have been possible. Dumbledore never would’ve allowed it. Protection spells, and all.” Potter sighed and pulled out his wand. “Come on, I think it might be time I pack up these rooms.”</p><p>It took hours to sort through everything. Most of the house had already been cleaned out in waves over the years, first by the Order and then by Potter and his friends. Draco set a few things aside to keep, mostly bits and bobs that bore the family crest and weren’t hexed, but most of it was tossed in the bin. They stacked any pictures they found together. Draco could sort through anything that hadn’t belonged to Sirius and figure out who was who.</p><p>As they descended the stairs to the ground floor, they pulled down all of the heads. How Granger had let those stay up this long was beyond him, but it was good they were gone now. Draco reached the bottom step and he yanked down the last one a little too forcefully. It tumbled to the ground with a loud thud. Curtains flew open and shrieks filled the hallway.</p><p>“Traitor! Half-blood! How dare you mar this house with your filth!” the portrait screamed.</p><p>“Hold this,” Draco scowled, picking up the head and handing it over. He marched into the kitchen and pulled out several drawers, picking the largest knife he could find. Returning to the hallway, he stood in front of the portrait.</p><p>“What are you-”</p><p>“You know, Potter, one thing you learn living in a place as old as the Manor is that permanent sticking charms aren’t all that permanent,” he said, adjusting his grip on the knife before holding it out to the woman, who had gone silent. “You don’t belong here anymore.”</p><p>“This is my house, I shall not be moved!” the portrait screamed.</p><p>“It’s not your house!” Draco grunted as he stabbed the knife into the edge of the painting, slicing through the canvas and cutting it from the frame. “Your line is dead. The Blacks are gone.” <em>And the world won’t miss them</em>. Perhaps it was best that the family lived on without the name. He wished for a split second he could do the same with the Malfoy name. It was no doubt as tarnished as the Black name had become during the wars. The portrait crumpled to the floor, still screaming. “Now we toss her in the fire,” he said, dropping the knife to the floor.</p><p>Potter had a stunned expression on his face. “Might as well. We can’t exactly chuck her in a bin.”</p><p>Draco scooped up the screaming canvas and carried it to the nearest fireplace. He stuffed the painting in and drew his wand. Flames erupted and the screams eventually died away. As the final bits turned to ash, a crash echoed from the hall. “That should be the frame. With the painting gone, the sticking charm doesn’t have anything to stick.”</p><p>“Brilliant,” Potter laughed. “I’m surprised Hermione never thought of that.”</p><p>“Granger would spend a month trying to invent a counter-spell rather than resort to brute force.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 4 September 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione was alone in the sitting room. Her eyes were fixed on the clock that sat on the mantle. Bouncing her leg, she waited and watched as the little hands ticked by. It was almost five. Where was he? Draco had only once been this late before. Had something happened? Why hadn’t he shown up for tea?</p><p>A roiling in her stomach told her that perhaps he had never intended to keep having tea with her after Harry left. Hermione had dropped Harry off at King’s Cross four days ago for his trip back to Hogwarts. After he and Draco had gone to Grimmauld Place together, they seemed closer. It was like a knife twisting in Hermione’s stomach to watch them. It was like they had a secret. If Ron had picked up on it, then he wasn’t saying anything. But Ron was always better at understanding people than she had been.</p><p>Hermione got up to pace. She checked her watch and then went to the kitchen to make sure her clocks were correct. Wandering back to the sitting room, she cleaned up the tea. Well, it had been nice while it lasted, she supposed.</p><p>“How was yesterday?” Ron asked as he dropped a gnome into a swift kick, sending it over the fence. “Sorry again that I couldn’t make it. You know how it is.</p><p>Hermione threw her gnome with as much force as she could muster, sending it in an ungraceful arc to the field beyond. After her disappointing afternoon yesterday, she’d decided to simply show up at Molly’s door as early as was acceptable and make herself useful. “He didn’t show up,” she grumbled.</p><p>Ron kicked another gnome and looked over at her, confused. “He what?”</p><p>Another gnome went flying. “He didn’t show up,” she repeated. “I waited and waited and the tea got cold and he never showed up.”</p><p>Ron chuckled and Hermione stopped mid-throw.</p><p>“What are you laughing at?”</p><p>Ron swallowed his laughter. “You sound like a girlfriend who got stood up, that’s all.” He kicked another gnome, only to have one hit him in the face.</p><p>“I do not!” Hermione cried. She absolutely did not sound like that! “I just think that it’s incredibly inconsiderate of him to have not made it clear that he would not be arriving at my house for tea yesterday when he’d been there every Saturday for the last two months.”</p><p>Clearing his throat, Ron picked up another gnome. “Well…”</p><p>Hermione grit her teeth. She hated it when Ron did this. He wouldn’t just say what was on his mind. “Well, what? Spit it out, Ron.”</p><p>“You’ve barely said a word to him! You sit there for a few minutes and then wander off and leave him with Harry and me. What’s the poor man supposed to think?”</p><p>“I would stay in the room longer if you three didn’t constantly talk about inane topics. Would it kill you to have a more educated conversation once in a while?”</p><p>“Now you sound jealous. And I think I know why you’re jealous.” He dodged another gnome she threw in his direction. “You had the same reaction when I started paying attention to Lavender and not you.”</p><p>Her nose scrunched up and she desperately wanted to shout that he was wrong. But he wasn’t. She <em>was</em> jealous of the friendship that had grown between the boys. She’d known for a while that she was jealous. But it wasn’t because she liked Draco. Not the way Ron was implying.</p><p>“You’re imagining things, Ron.” She looked down to grab another gnome, but found none. Well, that was one way to de-gnome a garden. “I’m not jealous and I don’t…” She wouldn’t dignify his implication with a real answer.</p><p>Ron grinned as they made for the house. They climbed the front step and Ron held the door open for her. “Look, now that Harry’s back at Hogwarts I can’t keep taking Saturdays off. You’ll have him all to yourself, just don’t scare him off or anything, alright? I’m starting to like the man.”</p><p>“Oh! Ron! Hermione!” Molly cried as they closed the door. “They just announced over the wireless that a pair of aurors took Mundungus into custody early this morning.”</p><p>Hermione’s stomach turned, but she forced a smile as Molly continued.</p><p>“I’m glad they’ve finally caught the rat. He’s caused the whole country enough grief to last a lifetime,” she grumbled as she picked up a knife and started to angrily carve up the meat for the night’s roast. Ron wandered off, but Hermione sat down at the table. “A husband and a son in the Ministry, I know when they’re hiding something. They get the same look, you know? They get little wrinkles on their forehead. I knew it the day the warrant was issued that something had gone horribly wrong. <em>We didn’t want you to worry</em>, they said, as though the very next day it wasn’t all over the Prophet and the wireless that Muggles across the world have little cameras in their pockets now. And then of course you get those bloody Americans threatening to cut themselves off from Muggles again, sending half the world into even more of a frenzy! One day they’ll learn you can’t put the potion back into the bottle, you just have to grab a mop and clean it up. I’m no expert, but a little bit of common sense goes a long way for things like this. It’s a pity half the Ministry seems to lack it.”</p><p>A pity, indeed. Hermione rested her cheek on a fist and listened as Molly ranted about how simple the solution would be if wizards simply had the good sense not to do magic when they’re out in the Muggle world. Oh, if only it were that simple. If the Prophet was anything to go by, MACUSA was tied up in debate over it and would be for months, possibly.</p><p>Hermione could barely sit still at her desk Monday morning. She kept fidgeting, shifting her legs and getting up to make more tea. She must have drunk six cups and it wasn’t even ten yet. Every time she sat down, her leg started to bounce or her fingers would drum the desk. Monday mornings were always quiet in the archives. Most retrieval requests wouldn’t come until after lunch, when everyone had time to remember what they’d been doing at the end of last week.</p><p><em>I’m starting to like the man</em>, Ron had said. Those words kept playing over and over in her brain. Draco was… Well, he was smart. He had academic interests, which was more than she could say for Harry and Ron most of the time. And Draco was pleasant company. He was polite and respectful and much more well-groomed than most of the boys she encountered.</p><p>She slammed the quill she’d been doodling with down on the desk.</p><p>“I’ll be back in a little while,” she told the other archivist she shared a little office space with.</p><p>It wasn’t terribly far to the DMGS. The Archives were on the same floor as the courtrooms. Just one flight of stairs and then the lift up two more levels. It only occurred to her once she was in the lift that she wasn’t sure what she was planning on saying. It was fine, she would simply start by inquiring why he had failed to show up for tea on Saturday and then they would go from there.</p><p>Hermione found the headquarters for the British and Irish Quidditch League and opened the door. It was a large room with desks scattered around. If there was a system to the place, it had long ago been buried underneath stacks of parchment and various paraphernalia from the game. She shook off the brief shock of the place and then continued in. Draco was easy to pick out, his pale hair sticking out. He was leaning back in his chair, feet up on his desk, and was tossing an unenchanted snitch in one hand as he read through a page held in his other. It was odd to see him in wizard robes again after getting to know him in Muggle attire over the last few months. She preferred the Muggle clothes, he looked better in them. No, she reminded herself. She was mad at him. There was no time for nonsense. She came to a stop beside his desk and cleared her throat.</p><p>With a violent jump, Draco dropped the snitch and looked up, shock and confusion mixed on his face. His feet dropped to the ground and he ran a hand through his hair. “What are you-”</p><p>“Where were you on Saturday,” she demanded before he could finish. Her arms were crossed and she drummed her fingers on her arm, staring him down.</p><p>He clearly had no idea what to do with his hands, because they kept looking for something to hold onto. “I, er, was at my house?”</p><p>“I thought it was clear that your invitation to tea at four on Saturdays stood until I explicitly said otherwise. I said no such thing, so why were you not at tea?”</p><p>“Can’t we talk in private?” Draco’s voice was low.</p><p>She was drawing eyes, she knew. It wasn’t every day that some woman simply showed up at Draco’s desk and publicly berated him, apparently. Pursing her lips, Hermione waited.</p><p>His jaw visibly tightened and he leaned back in his chair again. “Fine,” he muttered. “I thought that perhaps with Potter gone, you would stop pretending you can stand to be in my presence. You made yourself pretty clear a few weeks ago.”</p><p>Hermione gaped. “I don’t- I wouldn’t-” She pointed angrily at him, hardening her glare. “Saturday at four. Be there.”</p><p>Next time she’d simply send a howler. Turning on her heels, she swept out of the room. A dozen pairs of eyes followed her and she could hear Draco’s loud groan followed by the thud of a head on a desk.</p><p>She really did miss the sight of him in jeans.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. 11 September 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco showed up the second the clock struck four. He’d stood in his fireplace for a few minutes, watching the little hands on his watch count down. Granger had practically sent him a howler for not showing up last week. It had been worse than a howler, really. She’d gone and yelled at him herself in front of all of his co-workers. They’d spent the rest of the day sharing glances whenever he walked by. It was infuriating.</p><p>She was staring at the fireplace as he stepped out, a slightly startled look on her face. He stared back.</p><p>“Hi,” he croaked out.</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>More silence. Draco swallowed painfully and took his usual seat, pouring himself a cup. She’d even laid out a few little biscuits for the afternoon. “Where’s Weasley?” Merlin, the silence was already painful.</p><p>“He had to cover for George at the shop.”</p><p>“Ah, so it’ll just be us, then?”</p><p>She nodded, pressing her lips together tightly and looking down at the tea in her hands. She was clutching the cup like it was the last thing she had to her name in the world. Was she panicking? Granger had always been tightly wound, but she had never seemed this scared to have tea alone with him back in June.</p><p>Draco lifted the tea and took a sip. She’d chosen her usual peppermint this week. It had been a while. Weasley preferred a more bitter black tea and Potter had no opinion, so Draco had learned. It was all still a far cry from what he’d grown up with. Mother had loved a particular green tea from a specific region of China that had special properties for magic. It practically cost its weight in gold, but Father never refused her the luxury. Draco had always thought it tasted funny and preferred the spiced teas from India that Father always drank.</p><p>Oh, for Merlin’s sake, he couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He set the cup down on its saucer, the clink filling the room. “So,” he started, “what are you reading?” If that didn’t get her talking, nothing would.</p><p>She lowered her cup. “I’ve actually just started reading an interesting book published by a witch in Greece on the fundamental laws of magic as it pertains to death. I-”</p><p>“You speak Greek?”</p><p>Draco wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Granger spoke it, if he was being honest with himself. He’d been taught classical Latin as well as some ancient Greek as a child, but most of the old families tended to do that. Half the spells he’d learned at Hogwarts had their roots in one of those two places. Most wizarding schools on the continent simply taught ancient languages as a standard part of the curriculum because it was so bloody useful. Hogwarts was the exception unless you took ancient runes at the NEWT level.</p><p>“No, I don’t speak modern Greek,” she replied, “only French.” Clearing her throat, she continued onwards. “I was about to say, I had to wait a few months for a translation to be published. It’s supposed to be a detailed examination of the various cases in which one can potentially break that fundamental law. I probably would have read the book anyway, I do enjoy magical theory, but there’s a chapter on Voldemort. Adelphie, the author, actually came all the way here to interview Harry for it. I wasn’t in town at the time, but he said she seemed to be very intrigued by his dream about the train station. I’ll be interested to read what she concluded from it all.”</p><p>Granger kept going, but something in Draco’s brain stopped listening. He watched as she talked, her whole body seeming to relax. Her stiff and straight posture melted away and there was a certain gleam in her eyes that he recognized from one day in sixth year when Professor McGonagall asked if anyone in the class knew about some rule or law or whatever they had been studying. Granger’s hand shot into the air, as per usual, and spent the next five minutes giving a detailed summary of the contents of half the books in the Hogwarts library on the matter. Why McGonagall had let her ramble on for so long, Draco had never figured out. Favouritism, he’d decided back then, and he’d spent the whole time glaring intently at Granger as she once again took the spotlight. He wished he could remember what the subject of her lecture had been. His memory was never this poor about school.</p><p>After pausing to take a drink, Granger licked her lips and reached up to adjust the messy bun on her head. She pulled her wand out of her hair and it exploded outwards, curls springing from their prison before she grabbed them by the handful to wrestle them back down. How had he never noticed the sheer amount of hair this girl had? Pansy had whinged constantly about how none of the hair-thickening potions she wasted her money on worked, and that it was so unfair that so much hair, as unkempt as it was, was wasted on an ugly girl like Granger.</p><p>Draco kind of liked her hair when it wasn’t packed away in the bun. It reminded him a little of the Yule ball. He’d gaped like everyone else. At first, he’d thought she was some Beauxbatons girl. He was even a little jealous of Krum until it dawned on everyone who she was. Oh, he’d nearly vomited then and there, he remembered with a faint smile. He was so disgusted with himself in that moment for having, even for a second, thought Granger to be pretty.</p><p>He couldn’t fathom why anyone would think she wasn’t, looking at her now. His head tilted a little as he softly sighed. She licked her lips between sentences again and his heart raced a little.</p><p>It dawned on him that he hadn’t heard anything she’d said in the last few minutes and he quickly looked down at his cup to find he’d hardly drunk any of it. He started to mentally kick himself. Merlin, it had been a while since he’d had a thought like that about a girl. Why did he suddenly have to have eyes for Granger? Of all people! He’d had a few weeks of fun here and there while he was on the continent, but he couldn’t do that with <em>Granger</em>. She was… well for one there was too much history and none of it was good. There was no way that she’d reciprocate any kind of feeling when she knew his past. That had been his one saving grace on the continent. None of those girls knew anything. Not to mention the fact that Potter and Weasley would commit murder if he came anywhere near her.</p><p>The feeling would go away in a few weeks, he told himself. He just hasn’t had that kind of company in a while and she’s the only witch who’s given him the time of day lately.</p><p>“I’m particularly intrigued to see what she says about Nicolas Flamel,” Granger mused. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, actually. All things considered, he never seemed to have much in the way of negative effects despite his long life. Perhaps it’s possible that the invention of the elixir was a way to prolong life for a definite amount, rather than indefinite, which is an important distinction. On the other hand-”</p><p>“Flamel never ripped his soul in half, Granger.” Draco interrupted the debate she seemed to have started with herself.</p><p>She seemed almost surprised that he’d spoken. Did Potter and Weasley not talk back?</p><p>“Well, I suppose you’re right,” she finally replied with a thoughtful frown.</p><p>There was a little crease between her eyebrows. He knew that crease. He’d rejoiced at that crease whenever he saw it during an exam. It meant she didn’t know something.</p><p>“Of course I am.” Draco rested an ankle on the other knee, spinning his cup in its saucer. “Think about it. The fundamental laws apply to something like the soul, which <em>he</em> split multiple times. Flamel never touched his soul. He simply found an alchemical way to sustain his physical body longer than was natural, therefore he never broke the fundamental law.”</p><p>Two hours later, Draco was chopping onions as Granger argued with him while filling a pot of water for the pasta. Her back was to him as he glanced up from his work. His brain drifted away from her voice again as a curl slipped from her wand-held bun to lay on the back of her neck. His throat closed and his chest tightened as a disturbingly explicit image flashed through his mind. Merlin, he was in so much trouble.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. 18 September 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“All I’m saying is that if love is one of the fundamental magics that one should not mess with, then why are love potions legal?” Hermione asked.</p><p>“Because most of them don’t work!” Draco practically cried with a laugh.</p><p>It was odd, seeing him smile so much. He’d never been sullen around Ron or Harry, but he didn’t let out more than a few chuckles here and there from what she’d seen. Today, though, he seemed happy. It was almost disconcerting.</p><p>It was still hot for mid-September and Hermione normally would have regretted agreeing to an afternoon walking the Heath, but it had been so pleasant this morning and she’d never walked the Kenwood Estate. Plus, she had found someone who was almost as well read as she was in the theories of magic and she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to discuss such things.</p><p>“For one, most of them don’t last more than a few hours—a day at the most,” Draco started. “Then there’s the fact that it doesn’t produce true love, only infatuation. You would have to dose a person every single day in order to make the effect last. It’s unsustainable and almost impossible to pull off successfully. Another witch or wizard would figure it out after a while, assuming they’re not thick. Most love potions have a distinct taste or smell that we would’ve learned in school. Now if it were a muggle, then it’s a different matter.”</p><p>Hermione pursed her lips. He wasn’t wrong. “Just because something is difficult doesn’t mean it’s not worth banning. Polyjuice was banned at Hogwarts but that didn’t stop me from brewing it in the girl’s bathroom second year.”</p><p>Draco stopped in his tracks and put up his hands. “Wait, you did what?”</p><p>Perhaps he had never found out, she realized. Letting out a huff, she crossed her arms. “Second year, we thought that maybe you were behind the attacks. We wanted to question you, but not have you know it was us. So, I spent a month brewing polyjuice in Myrtle’s bathroom. Harry and Ron got some hair from Crabbe and Goyle and somehow lucked their way into the Slytherin common room. You were innocent, obviously, but at the time we thought it was worth a shot.”</p><p>After a few seconds of stunned silence, Draco let out an uneasy laugh and shook his head. “I don’t believe it.” They started walking down the path again. “It took me three attempts to get it right when I used it in sixth year and you managed it on your first go <em>second</em> year? Impossible.”</p><p>Her jaw dropped. “Ask Harry! Or better yet, ask Myrtle. She’ll remember it pretty well, it’s why I was in the hospital wing for a while that year. I accidentally pulled cat hair from Millicent’s robes and the potion really isn’t meant for animal transformations. I was glad Madame Pomfrey never asked questions, else I might have been expelled.”</p><p>“And I would’ve rejoiced if you had.”</p><p>Hermione shot him a withering glance, but couldn’t hold it for more than a few seconds before rolling her eyes and slipping into a sly smile. “Back to the original point, I will add that there are loads of Muggle stories that involve a witch enchanting a man with some potion or spell so that he falls in love with her, or a Muggle woman will go to a witch for those things. Those stories didn’t just come from nowhere, actual witches and wizards had to have done it. How can you tell me that in all of history the wizarding community never stopped to think that maybe what they were doing was wrong?”</p><p>“Wizards didn’t give a pixie’s arse about the wellbeing of Muggles until recently, you know that.”</p><p>“You’re not usually out here this time of day,” a raspy voice called out from behind them.</p><p>Hermione turned around to see a tiny old woman carrying a bag overflowing with yarn. Before Hermione could open her mouth, Draco was already talking.</p><p>“No, I’m not. I was, er, out for the day with a friend.” He cast a sideways glance at her as he spoke.</p><p>“Oh, well I was just on my way home to have tea. Would you like to join?”</p><p>“No, Mrs. Bates, I… er…”</p><p>Mrs. Bates broke into a grin and waved her hand. “She’s more than welcome to join.”</p><p>“We’d love to,” Hermione finally cut in, clearing her throat.</p><p>Draco shot her a panicked look, but didn’t argue.</p><p>“Excellent. I’m right around the corner.”</p><p>Draco shrank into himself as they walked. The old woman seemed to do most of the talking and Hermione watched in fascination as she rambled on.</p><p>They arrived outside a little brick house just across the road from the gardens. “Excuse me,” Draco muttered as they entered, and made for what Hermione assumed was a bathroom.</p><p>“What’s your name, dear?” Mrs. Bates reached out a hand and lightly touched Hermione’s arm.</p><p>She jumped at the contact. “Oh, er, Hermione. I’m a friend of Draco’s from school.”</p><p>Mrs. Bates hummed and nodded before waving for Hermione to follow to the kitchen. “He doesn’t like to talk about school, but he did mention that he had recently run into a girl he’d known. I take it that was you?”</p><p>Hermione nodded.</p><p>“Glad to see you two worked things out, then. He was so upset that you two had argued.” Mrs. Bates filled a kettle with water and began heating it as she put away her groceries. “I worry about that boy sometimes.”</p><p>“Oh?” Now Hermione was intrigued. This was all so unexpected. She’d have to watch what she said, though. She had no idea what this woman knew, or what lies Draco had used to abide by the Statute. It was probably best if she remained as vague as possible, at least until Draco was in the room.</p><p>“Yes, he reminded me a little of my late husband. Very dapper, always dressing nicely and polite. He looked so lonely sitting there by himself by the ponds every day, I thought I might invite him over for tea. I’ve lived in this house for, oh, fifty years. All of my friends have either died or gone to live with their children, so I figured it was time to make a new one. He’s been such a blessing, too. My old bones can’t manage some of the work this place needs.”</p><p>The kettle whistled. Hermione carried the tray and followed Mrs. Bates to the sitting room. Draco finally emerged just as they took their seats. He shoved his hands into his pockets and, with wide and panicked eyes, looked between Hermione and the old woman.</p><p>What on earth did he have to be scared about?</p><p>“Oh, bring me the envelope on the table, would you?”</p><p>Draco grabbed the little white package and handed it to Mrs. Bates before sitting down.</p><p>“Marie sent me the pictures she took while she was here.”</p><p>Hermione opened her mouth to ask, but it seemed Mrs. Bates could read minds.<br/><br/>“Marie is my granddaughter. She’s sixteen and reminds me of myself at that age. It’s such a shame my son took that job up in Manchester, I miss having Marie around all year. Now she’s only here for a week in the summer and again in January.”</p><p>Mrs. Bates handed a stack of pictures from the envelope over to Hermione to look at. There were a few shots of London, and some of the National Gallery. One was a shot of Mrs. Bates, Draco, and a girl with bright pink hair sitting on a bench in the park, although the girl holding the camera was the only one actually looking at it. Draco was leaning back in his seat, legs outstretched, and <em>grinning</em>.</p><p>“She looks a bit like Tonks,” Hermione mused absentmindedly.</p><p>“Who, my dear?”</p><p>Hermione looked up and realized she might have said too much. Draco’s gaze was focused intently on the stack of pictures in his own hand, but she could tell he wasn’t actually looking at them. “Nymphadora, my cousin. Tonks was a nickname,” he answered.</p><p>“Oh, no wonder you get along so well with Marie, then. Cousins are such wonderful-”</p><p>“I didn’t really know her,” Draco continued, taking a deep breath. Hermione immediately regretted bringing the subject up. “Our mothers… didn’t get along. And then she died before I was old enough to make amends on my own.”</p><p>Mrs. Bates reached out and patted Draco’s arm silently as Hermione lowered her head back to the pictures. There were a few more pictures of exhibits, but then one photo caught her eye. A massive painting hung on the wall and in front of it, turned away the camera, was Draco. He looked so relaxed as he stood there, hands in his pockets like always. Hermione ran her thumb over the picture and her heart sped up a little. She began to chew on her bottom lip and looked up at Draco, who was thankfully distracted by whatever Mrs. Bates had gone on to say. He was smiling, and Hermione wondered if it was an unconscious one. It looked so easy and natural, like the one she’d caught him wearing the week before when he had let her prattle on for nearly ten minutes before joining the conversation.</p><p>Draco glanced over at her and she returned her eyes to the pictures, tidying them up into a neat little stack before placing them on the table. “She’s a very talented photographer,” Hermione said. “Do you mind if I use the loo?”</p><p>“Of course, just in the hall across from the kitchen.”</p><p>Hermione shut herself in the little powder room and took a deep breath. Okay, so maybe Ron wasn’t just teasing her. This was so unfair. Why did Draco have to be in Flourish and Blotts that day? Of all people, why did it have to be him? Taking a deep breath and washing her face, she resolved to push the feelings away. It would be silly for her to entertain those kinds of thoughts.</p><p>Opening the door, she nearly ran into Draco as he stepped out of the kitchen, jar of clotted cream in his hand. Hermione realized how narrow the hall was as she found herself standing less than an arm’s length in front of him.</p><p>“I- I’m sorry I brought up Tonks,” she sputtered. “I forgot that she was-”</p><p>“It’s fine.”</p><p>It most certainly was <em>not</em> fine if the pained look in his eyes was anything to go by. Her palms began to itch and she chewed on her bottom lip again. Her gaze flickered between his eyes and his mouth and a thought she had just told herself she wouldn’t have passed through her mind. Tearing herself away, she returned to the sitting room.</p><p>“I’m really sorry, but I have to get going,” she started, picking up her purse. “The tea was lovely, but I’ve got dinner plans and it’s a long trip home.”</p><p>“Oh, how unfortunate,” Mrs. Bates sighed. “It was lovely to meet you. Pardon if I don’t get up to properly say goodbye, but my knees ache terribly.”</p><p>Draco stood, a little frown creasing his brow. “I’ll walk you out,” he muttered.</p><p>Hermione looked at her feet as she went to the front door. Draco opened the door and followed her out.</p><p>“You didn’t say anything about dinner plans,” he started in a low voice.</p><p>Pursing her lips, Hermione descended the front steps. “A few of my university friends are in town for my birthday and they’re taking me out.”</p><p>Draco sputtered. “I- I had no idea it was your-”</p><p>“Tomorrow is my birthday, to be precise.” She crossed her arms and turned around to face him. “I celebrated last night with my parents and Molly is throwing me a huge party tomorrow.”</p><p>“Oh.” Her heart leapt to her throat. He sounded so disappointed. “Have fun.”</p><p>“Thanks,” she eked out before turning on her heels and rushing across the street to the park. She’d apparate in a bush if she had to, but she couldn’t spend another second standing there.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. 5 November 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco hiked up the path from the gates of Hogwarts. Potter was seated on the front steps of the grand entrance, his unruly hair covered over by a scarlet knit cap that matched his scarf.</p><p>“You really take this whole head of Gryffindor thing seriously,” Draco joked, holding out a hand to help Potter to his feet.</p><p>“Ginny says it’s a good colour on me,” he shot back.</p><p>Draco dug a hand into his bag and pulled out a pair of earmuffs. “Before I forget, these are the test pair. Let me know how they do and you can bring them back when you come south again for Christmas.”</p><p>Potter slipped the pair of earmuffs around his neck. “Will do.”</p><p>“And these are the instructions,” Draco added, holding out a folded-up piece of parchment. “Should be simple enough. One word to turn it on, one to turn it off.”</p><p>“That’s all you need when you only get one station.”</p><p>Draco chuckled. “True.” He slung the bag back over his shoulder. “So, what first?”</p><p>Potter checked his watch. “We’ve still got an hour of daylight. Fancy throwing a quaffle back and forth?”</p><p>“I thought you’d never ask.”</p><p>Draco left the field with a handful of sore spots that he knew would be bruises come the morning. That’s what he got for not flying in years and then suddenly trying to take on the infamous Potter. The walk down to Hogsmede for dinner helped the ache.</p><p>“I never came up here often,” Draco mused as they climbed to Gryffindor tower.</p><p>Harry pulled out his wand and tapped the lock on the door to his rooms. They were just below the Gryffindor common room, apparently. “I suppose most don’t see the inside of other house’s rooms. I mean, Ron and I snuck into yours second year and I was in Ravenclaw tower during the battle, but I’ve been on the staff for four years and I still haven’t seen the inside of Hufflepuff’s common room.”</p><p>“Granger told me about the little stunt you all pulled second year,” Draco replied, looking around Potter’s rooms. They were warm and comfortable and very Gryffindor. Everything was scarlet and gold. Clothing and quidditch equipment were strewn about, but it was somehow neater than Draco had imagined Potter’s living space to be.</p><p>Potter turned, brow raised. “She did? Huh. Anyway, it took a few months for me to stop thinking of this as where McGonagall lived and settle in.” He swung a painting of a spilled glass of wine out from the wall, revealing a little cupboard behind. Inside were a few bottles and some glasses. Potter pulled out two of the latter. “Old Ogden’s good?”</p><p>Draco nodded and collapsed on the couch in front of the fireplace. “I’m surprised you’re allowed to have this.”</p><p>Potter crashed into the couch next to him. “Oh, you should see Penny’s stash. I’m pretty sure she uses the potions labs during the summer to brew some of her homemade stuff. But she’s also not a head of house. Much less likely to have a student knocking on her door in the middle of the night. Gemma and Olivia are just as terrible.” Potter paused to take a sip from his glass. “Hagrid aside, I’m the only Gryffindor on staff. McGonagall had one hell of a time replacing four professors in one go. She’d called in a favour with an old friend to cover my position until I was back in the country and she could recruit me.”</p><p>“You poor sod.”</p><p>“I’d rather be doing this than running around like a dog for the Ministry.”</p><p>He had a point, there. They lapsed into silence as they drank for a few minutes as Draco worked up the courage to ask the question that had been eating at his mind for the last month.</p><p>“It always surprised me that Granger and Weasley became a thing. We’d always thought it’d be you.”</p><p>Potter snorted. “I can’t believe you all gossiped about us like that.”</p><p>“Oh, like you didn’t? Half the school knew about your crush on Chang. Theo wanted to send the two of you notes claiming it was from the other just to make things interesting. I almost wish he had.” Draco took a sip. “I’m serious, though, why did nothing ever happen between you and Granger? After all, Pansy worked so hard on those rumours for Skeeter in fourth year.”</p><p>“Yeah, thanks for that.” Potter sharply kicked Draco in the leg for the last comment. “She’s basically my sister. Surprisingly enough there weren’t many in Gryffindor our year who had grown up in a Muggle home. Hermione and I bonded over the novelty of it all. It never occurred to me to think of her as anything else.” He paused, frowning as he looked over. “Why?”</p><p>Draco shrugged. “Curiosity,” he lied. Well, it wasn’t a total lie. “McLaggen is two desks away from me at the DMGS and the other day I heard him complaining in the loudest and most obnoxious way, as you Gryffindors tend to do, that one day he’ll prove Granger wrong when she told him that, and he quoted, she’d sworn off wizards.” Again, it was only half a lie. McLaggen had said something to that effect at the department’s Christmas party the year before when a few of the others mocked him for not following through on his boast that he’d have the most eligible witch on his arm that night. At the time, Draco had merely rolled his eyes and gone back to sipping butterbeer in the corner until it was a polite time to leave. But now…</p><p>“Is that what she told him?” Potter was laughing so hard he nearly spilled his firewhiskey all over the carpet. “He’s asked her out a few times. He was practically in love with her sixth year. She invited him to Slughorn’s Christmas party because she thought it would make Ron jealous and it was an absolute nightmare. He’s tried again every year or so since, but she never tells me what clever lie she uses on him to get out of it.”</p><p>So, it was a lie, then? Draco’s brow raised a fraction, watching as Potter wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.</p><p>“Hermione’s just picky and stubborn. It took her and Ron three years to admit they liked each other. I’m no expert, though. I just know she has a particular hatred for Cormac if that’s what you’re wondering.”</p><p>Draco didn’t like the way Potter was eyeing him by the end of it. He stood up and walked back over to the hidden cupboard to pour himself another glass, if only to hide his face as he breathed a slow and silent sigh of relief.</p><p>After the incident with Mrs. Bates, he’d hardly seen Granger. She’d gone out of town the following weekend and had supposedly been at the Archives putting in extra hours the weekend after. When he finally saw her, it was for a painfully short and polite teatime before she ushered him out, claiming she had things to do. And so it went for nearly a month. Draco had wracked his brain for what he possibly could’ve done to offend her just enough that she could now barely look him in the eye and yet still invited him over. Weasley was no help, being that he never showed up.</p><p>Potter set his empty glass down and stood up. “I’m going to do a lap around the tower, make sure I don’t have any students loose.”</p><p>“Yeah, sounds good,” Draco muttered as he downed his whole second serving in one gulp.</p><p>Sporting a fine black coat and the emerald and silver of Slytherin for his scarf, Draco climbed up behind Potter into the stands of the quidditch pitch. There really was no match at Hogwarts more highly anticipated than Gryffindor versus Slytherin. After all, they tended to be the two most competitive teams and had each individually produced the most professional players over the last two centuries than Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff combined.</p><p>Draco sat down on the bench, Potter on his right and McGonagall just beyond, dressed in crimson and gold from head to toe. “I thought headmasters were supposed to be impartial, Professor,” Draco laughed, leaning forward to look around Potter.</p><p>McGonagall put up a finger. “There is no such thing as impartial when it comes to quidditch, Mister Malfoy, you of all people should know that,” she happily retorted. “It’s good to see you.” She turned to look over her shoulder and a few rows back. “Pay up, Pomona! I told you he’d be here.” She turned back. “We had a little wager going on whether or not, now that you and Harry seem to be friends, you’d show up to the game.”</p><p>Potter chuckled. “Yes, now that we’re not actively trying to get the other expelled,” he added.</p><p>“Oh, yes, I’ll never forget the look on your face, Mister Malfoy, when I gave you detention for turning in Harry and the others—it was your first year, wasn’t it—after hours. Severus and I had a special bottle we’d crack open together at the end of the year to celebrate your departures from campus. You two were a handful.”</p><p>Draco’s face heated at the memories that flooded back of all the times he’d proudly turned in Potter and his friends for breaking the rules. How many hours of his life had he wasted pursuing the pointless goal? “We had certainly perfected the art of childhood rivalry,” he finally said, resting his elbows on his knees as Madame Hooch stepped onto the field.</p><p>His eyes scanned the Slytherin team. They were a lithe bunch, very different than the rather brutish team he’d played with most of his time as seeker. The Gryffindor team certainly had more muscle. The game kicked off with a roar from the stands, even the tiny first-years jumping up and down. A thought passed through Draco’s mind and he leaned over to Potter. “Which one is that Muggleborn kid?”</p><p>Potter leaned forward, squinting through his binoculars for a moment before pointing. “Blonde one, front row, wearing the Ravenclaw colours,” he said.</p><p>Draco put his own pair of binoculars up to his face and scanned the crowd. She was a tiny little thing being swallowed up by her cloak.</p><p>“Why do you ask?”</p><p>He put the binoculars down and went back to watching the game. “Granger brought it up a couple of weeks ago.”</p><p>“Mm, good news is that she seems to have befriended one of her classmates.” Potter turned to McGonagall. “Have the Martins said whether or not they’re taking Eleanor for Christmas?”</p><p>“I just received a letter from Mrs. Martin yesterday that she’s gotten permission from the girl’s family to take her,” she replied without breaking her focus on the game. “It’s such a shame that there wasn’t more we could do for the poor thing before now. I pitied you the same way, Harry. I watched your aunt and uncle all day before Albus left you at their doorstep and had I not known there was a bigger picture to consider, I would’ve beat him over the head with the nearest broom until he let me take you myself.”</p><p>Draco suppressed a laugh and leaned back in his seat. Ten minutes into the game and neither team had scored, nor was the snitch anywhere to be seen. Looks like it’d be a long afternoon and he was looking forward to holding a Slytherin victory over Potter’s head for at least a month.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. 13 November 2004</h2></a>
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    <p>Hermione paced back and forth outside of a little Italian restaurant. Draco had sent her a memo on Thursday asking if she’d rather get dinner than simply do tea that week, as he’d promised to watch Teddy for the afternoon so that Andromeda could attend her Muggle father-in-law’s funeral, an affair in which Teddy’s unconscious habit of constantly changing his hair colour would be noticed. It seemed like a reasonable request at the time, and so Hermione had agreed, expecting it to be a simple meal. Instead, she was told a time and given an address in Covent Garden. So here she was, pacing under an umbrella in her one decent dress that was warm enough for the cold winter downpour.</p><p>Why couldn’t Draco have picked some little place in a less elegant part of London? Then again, it <em>was</em> Draco. He had more money than he knew what to do with and lived in one of the nicest neighbourhoods in the city. Of course he would pick a restaurant like this for a casual meal.</p><p>On the other hand, dinner at a nice restaurant sounded awfully like a date.</p><p>She didn’t want it to be a date. It couldn’t be a date. She only dressed up nicely because it was a nice restaurant. She only spent ten minutes carefully braiding her hair over one shoulder so that it looked neat and tidy because it was a nice restaurant. She only put on her pair of little sparkly earrings because they matched the dress. She only looked like this because she didn’t want to be an embarrassment, not because it was a date.</p><p>“Sorry, I’m late,” Draco said.</p><p>Hermione jumped, startled at the voice, and turned around. He had forgone the jeans she’d grown so used to seeing him in for a pair of proper trousers. It made him look a little more like what she remembered from school, although now that she thought about it, she was surprised he hadn’t worn a full suit.</p><p>“You look nice,” he continued. “Brings back some memories of fourth year.”</p><p>Her face flushed a little. “Oh, er, thank you,” she mumbled. She supposed he was referring to the Yule Ball, although she had been a lot more dressed up then than she was now. Oh, she should just take the compliment and stop overthinking it. “You look nice, too.”</p><p>She followed him into the restaurant and waited as he confirmed the reservation with the host. It was a cosy place with lots of candles. Okay, so maybe this was a date. Or maybe he simply liked restaurants that were lit a little more like a wizarding establishment. Who was she to judge? She stole a glance at him, chewing on her lip. Oh, he did look so nice now that he’d taken his coat off. She did have a certain thing for sporting figures. And she liked it when he smiled, especially at her.</p><p>Ears ringing as they sat down, she wondered just how red-faced she was. There was a slight shift in the air and a twitch of Draco’s arm under the table meant that he’d cast at least one silencing charm, possibly two. Better to be safe than sorry, she supposed.</p><p>“How was your trip to Hogwarts?” she asked, trying to initiate something close to a normal conversation to slow her hammering heart.</p><p>Draco glanced up from the menu. “Good. Slytherin won the match.”</p><p>“I suppose you won’t let Harry forget that one for a while.”</p><p>“Definitely not. I plan on holding it over his head until the year’s end at least.”</p><p>She chuckled, and the smile lingered on her face as she watched him.</p><p>The waiter took their order and they continued a stilted conversation until the food arrived. Why was it suddenly so hard to find something to say to him? Ever since she’d met the little old woman from the park, words just weren’t coming as easily as they had before. It was so silly, she was never this tongue-tied normally. Ron had gotten into her head and now she was all nervous and Draco had probably long ago noticed something-</p><p>“I saw in the Prophet this morning that Fletcher was sentenced to six months in Azkaban,” Draco mused as he finished his meal. “Seems like a lot less terrifying of a prospect now that the dementors have been removed.”</p><p>Less terrifying, indeed. “I saw,” she replied with a grimace. “Although I hardly think that time in prison is the correct response to this whole matter. These breaches are going to happen more and more. What are they going to do? Toss every wizard who makes a simple mistake into Azkaban?”</p><p>Draco winced. “No, but what else are they supposed to do?”</p><p>Something inside of Hermione snapped a little. She put down her fork, appetite leaving. “Well for one, they could do a little more to educate the population on how to not get caught.”</p><p>“Not getting caught isn’t a problem when most don’t enter the Muggle world more than once or twice a year.”</p><p>“That’s not the point!” She tried to keep her voice down. The charms could only do so much to protect her voice from carrying. She took a deep breath. “The point is the Muggle world is expanding. It’s only going to get harder and harder to hide and the sooner we embrace that fact, the better off we’ll be.”</p><p>Leaning back in his chair, Draco sighed. “I don’t disagree, but the Statute was put in place for a reason, Granger. We’re not safe.”</p><p>Hermione wrinkled her nose in a frustrated frown. “We fought a whole bloody war to prove that Muggles aren’t terrible and now half the world’s ministries are debating whether or not to make it illegal to fraternize with them. There’s a whole office for Muggle relations and the most I’ve seen them do is modify some memories and publish a handful of pamphlets. Half their employees probably have no contact with the Muggle world themselves and are about as qualified to instruct others on the matter as I would be to catch a snitch in the World Cup. Think of all the Muggleborn children who spend their formative child years knowing nothing of the world they’re going to spend the rest of their life in! If the Ministry wasn’t so insistent on keeping our world an absolute secret, maybe something could’ve been done about Harry’s student. She could’ve been raised by a wizarding family that loved her and cared for her instead of that pile of Hippogriff shit.”</p><p>“Not every wizarding home is happy and loving like the Weasleys’,” Malfoy cut in, his expression growing a little hurt. “And if you’re so bothered by all of this, why are you still down in the Archives? You could do a lot more if you weren’t tucked away in the shadows.”</p><p>Hermione let out a derisive laugh. “That’s rich, coming from the man whose plan is to just hide for the rest of his life in the DMGS, living off his family’s fortune and squandering away his talent.”</p><p>“That’s different.”</p><p>“How?” She gripped the sides of her chair tightly, digging her nails into the soft wood. “Harry’s told me about the project you’ve been working on. I doubt just any wizard could put that together in, what, four months? You and I shared almost every single class sixth year, which means you passed at least as many OWLs as I did, and that’s no easy feat.”</p><p>“And where have all those OWLs and NEWTs gotten you? I looked up the requirements for your job ages ago and it’s almost laughable how overqualified you are,” he hissed. “And don’t feed me the lie that you’re happy down there, you’ve said you aren’t plenty of times. At least I had the sense to find a mundane job that has something to do with my interests. It may not be the most glamorous job, but I’m never bored witless doing it.”</p><p>Hermione grit her teeth. Oh, she wanted to reach across the table and slap him for that. “You don’t understand the pressure I was under—that I’m still under. Everyone has such high expectations of me and-”</p><p>“I’m perhaps the best person to understand, Granger. I had a family reputation to uphold and I was told I had to be the best in everything from day one. I was terrified to go home to my father and tell him that not only was I only second in my class, but that you were the girl who bested me. Never mind the fact that I nearly broke my neck in quidditch try-outs second year so that I could prove to him I was as good a seeker as Potter. I was always taught that Malfoys never come in second, but that’s all I was for years competing with you two. If my name hadn’t been dragged through the mud thanks to my father, I’d be halfway to a place on the Wizengamot by now because that’s what was expected of me.”</p><p>“And yet you’re still throwing away all that hard work now that you don’t have your family name to carry you to the top. You only ever seem to think about yourself in terms of the Malfoy legacy instead of as your own person. You always have.” She stood up and collected her purse. “You’re a brilliant wizard and quite frankly the first person in years I’ve considered to be my intellectual equal. It’s a shame you’re not putting yourself and your money to better use. You can forget about tea next week.”</p><p>Turning on her heels, she stormed out of the restaurant and opened her umbrella in as dignified a manner as she could manage. So that was how it was, then. Perhaps she had been wrong to be jealous of Harry and Ron and their friendship with him. It had looked so easy, but once again they’d simply descended into what would’ve been a shouting match had they not been in public.</p><p>She made it halfway down the block before he came running up behind her, splattered with rain and a closed umbrella still in his hand. She refused to look at him, keeping her eyes on the wet pavement as she continued walking.</p><p>“You know, I could say the same for you,” he started. “You’re a bloody genius and you’re wasted down there. I’m not the only one who thinks so, too. Potter and Weasley have said as much multiple times, but you clearly won’t listen to them. So maybe you’ll listen to me.” He took hold of her upper arm, stopping and turning her to face him. He was soaked to the bone, closed umbrella still in hand. “I think you’re afraid,” he continued.</p><p>She glanced up, hoping that he would look angry, but he was only disappointed. Somehow, that was worse.</p><p>“I think you’re afraid of failing. You always have been. You did nothing but worry about how far above perfect your grades were. Don’t think we didn’t all get a good laugh out of your boggart in third year. You know as well as I do that you’re a force to be reckoned with if you’ve got a purpose. Now purpose has fallen directly into your lap but you refuse to see it. Pretty cowardly for a Gryffindor, I’ll say.”</p><p>Hermione inhaled sharply, trying to find anything to say that would refute him. Nothing came. As she glared at him, a part of her wanted to grab that poor, damp face of his and kiss him. A slightly larger part of her wanted to slap that look off his face. She did the latter. One loud crack later and he had a hand to his cheek where she’d hit him.</p><p>“I’m not a coward,” she hissed before marching off. This time, he didn’t follow.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. 19 November 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Time for bed,” Andromeda said, kissing Teddy on the forehead before ushering him towards the stairs.</p><p>The child whined loudly. “I don’t want-”</p><p>“Now.”</p><p>With a large pout, Teddy shuffled upstairs. Andromeda was right behind him, leaving Draco alone in the sitting room. His stomach ached with emptiness. Dinner had smelled good, but as much as he stared at it, he couldn’t muster up the will to eat.</p><p>It was nearly half an hour before his aunt came back downstairs.</p><p>“I swear that child is more like his mother every day,” she muttered, gliding over to the liquor cabinet to pour herself a drink.</p><p>Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his aunt sat beside him on the velvety couch. She ran her fingers gently through his hair, her nails scratching ever so lightly at his scalp.</p><p>“What’s on your mind? You hardly touched your food and even Teddy said you seemed sad.”</p><p>He groaned, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. He didn’t want to get into it with her about Hermione. He was having a hard time wrapping his own mind around the amount of pain he felt over what had happened. Andromeda didn’t need to know. “I think it’s time.” He took a deep breath. “I’m getting rid of the Manor.”</p><p>“You’ve said that before,” Andromeda replied. “What makes this time different?”</p><p>Was she doubting him? She had every right to do so, he supposed. This wasn’t the first time he’d said he was going to sell the Manor, but every time he’d been unable to go through with it. He shrugged. “It just is.”</p><p>Hermione’s jab had been echoing in his mind for days now. <em>You only ever seem to think about yourself in terms of the Malfoy legacy instead of as your own person</em>, she’d said. She was right, as much as he hated to admit it. All his life he’d been told he had to act a certain way or be a certain kind of person in order to uphold the Malfoy legacy. The war had turned so much of that on its head. What good was a legacy if all it caused was pain?</p><p>“Have I ever told you why I left my family?”</p><p>Sometimes Draco swore that Andromeda could read minds. “No,” he mumbled.</p><p>Resettling herself in her seat, she laid an arm across the back of the couch, drink in hand. “I made a conscious choice in the matter. I knew my family would disapprove of Ted the moment I laid eyes on him. I knew that one day I would marry him and I would be cast out. It wasn’t an easy choice, but loving Ted taught me that the world is always changing and that some things must die for others to be born.”</p><p>Why in the name of Merlin did she always have to be so cryptic? “I’m not following.”</p><p>“My father was stuck in his radical ways just as my aunt and uncle were. They cared too much about the Black legacy and maintaining centuries old traditions rather than accepting and enjoying the wonderful new things the world had to offer. Sirius and I, despite loving our families very much, loved the new world more and we gladly accepted the price of being cast out in order to live our lives to the fullest. The Blacks wanted to freeze themselves in a past where they ruled like kings and they died because of it. You can learn from their mistakes. The Malfoy name doesn’t have to die for the legacy to be forged anew.”</p><p>He looked over at her, eyes narrow. “Can’t you just say yes, I think you should sell the Manor?”</p><p>Andromeda started laughing, which Draco joined. “I suppose that would’ve been a quicker way of saying it, yes.” She reached out and stroked his cheek before pinching it. “But since when have I ever been to the point about anything?”</p><p>Draco swatted away her hand with a half-smile. “Point taken.” He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “I just keep hearing his voice in my head. Even locked away in prison, he’s still lecturing me in my sleep about how our family has lived on those lands for nearly a millennium and it would be an utter betrayal to our history for me to sell it.”</p><p>“You have sole control over the Malfoy properties and fortune. You can choose to do with it what you want and make the name mean something other than what your father intended.”</p><p>“I know, I know.”</p><p>They lapsed into silence and Andromeda started to gently scratch at his scalp again. It was a comforting sensation. His mother did it when he was little and couldn’t sleep. She would lay in bed with him for hours and run her fingers through his hair, her nails scraping delicately at his skin.</p><p>“Speaking of your parents, your mother sent me a letter this week. She said you haven’t replied to any of her letters for months.”</p><p>No, he hadn’t written her in a while. Not since he’d first run into Granger now that he thought about it. He hadn’t even opened the last few of his mother’s letters. They were still sitting on the table, untouched.</p><p>“She sounded worried, Draco. She loves you.” She sighed softly and pulled her hand back from him. “I was thinking of inviting her to Christmas this year.”</p><p>The thought turned his stomach a little. He loved his mother. She was, well, his mother. How could he not? But at the same time, he still hated her for everything. He knew she’d tried to protect him, but then why not send him away? Why not ship him off to some distant cousin? Or better yet why not send him here? If she’d really cared to keep him safe, if she really thought that siding with <em>him</em> was wrong, then why had she simply let it happen?</p><p>“She and I started writing last winter,” his aunt continued. “She was always softer than Bella, well-behaved and polite and never one to ruffle any feathers. I’ve missed her these last thirty years and I think I can find it in my heart to forgive her.”</p><p>He knew that last part was meant for him. Grumbling, he stood up. “Fine. I’ll write her back. But not until I’ve finished with the Manor. The last thing I need is for her to find out and try to stop me.”</p><p>“Fair enough.”</p><p>The Saturday morning air was cold and crisp when he apparated to the front of the Manor’s drive. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and walked up the gravel path, stones crunching under his feet. The pale peacocks screeched as he passed, brandishing their feathers. Perhaps Lovegood would know what to do with them. They weren’t magical, but she would still know better than he did about what to do with a dozen albino peacocks. He’d have to remember to write to her when he got home.</p><p>The front doors opened automatically as he climbed the front steps. The air inside was stale and white sheets covered everything. He’d only come back a few times. A couple to just walk around and once to retrieve books and other things he wanted to move to the townhouse. Now… Now he was here to clear the rest of it out.</p><p>It was a slow and painful task, going room by room. At least when he’d taken a few heirlooms from Grimmauld, valuables from his mother’s family, Potter had been there. It didn’t feel as sacrilegious. He’d taken a handful of dusty, tarnished family jewels and some aged photographs of his mother, Andromeda, and their cousins. Now he was tearing apart his own childhood home. There were dark artifacts scattered everywhere. He made another mental note to stop by Borgin and Burke’s when he went to the Alley tomorrow. He could set up a time for Mr. Borgin to come by and pick the stuff up. He could have it for free for all that Draco cared. He just wanted it gone. Selling the property would swell his fortune more than any of the possessions inside ever could.</p><p>He would take some of the art, he supposed. There were some paintings of Malfoys from centuries ago buried somewhere. His father had always preferred to display the more modern pieces, the ones of Malfoys who had espoused pureblood superiority as though their grandfathers hadn’t been proudly prominent members of Muggle noble circles. Whatever he didn’t take could go to Hogwarts. There was always room on those walls for more paintings. Another letter to send, he supposed. It would be nice to take the stuff up there himself and see Potter again, assuming Hermione hadn’t insisted that Draco be shunned after what happened last week.</p><p>The sun had already set by the time Draco shut the front door behind him. He had several paintings tightly rolled up under one arm and an ornate black and silver box stuffed with various bits and bobs and jewels that were worth keeping. Most proper heirlooms were in the family vault at Gringotts anyway.</p><p>Letters, he reminded himself. He had several letters to write. And once the place was cleared, he had to stop by the Ministry’s office for property enchantments and the like. They’d be able to come by and strip the place as best as possible. No wizard would dare buy the place, but if his time touring the Muggle world taught him anything, it was that they loved old things. There was bound to be someone willing to take it off his hands. Hermione would know-</p><p>His chest tightened as he reminded himself that asking Hermione was no longer an option. He’d hoped that her anger would be short-lived and that a memo would be waiting on his desk Monday morning saying that no, he was in fact still invited over for tea. No such note arrived and when he saw her in the Atrium, she simply walked past him with not so much as an acknowledgement of his existence.</p><p>It was for the best, he lied to himself as he reached the end of the drive. He’d deluded himself into thinking that they… It was bound to go up in flames eventually. He apparated to the front steps of his townhouse. The ache only got stronger. He laid his load on the dining table to be dealt with in the morning and collapsed in a chair.</p><p>Draco didn’t believe the lie. He might as well admit it. He was in love with Hermione fucking Granger and he’d gone and mucked it all up on their first date. Had she even realized that’s what it was? He groaned loudly and hung his head in his hands. Of all people, why did it have to be her?</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. 10 December 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione sat stiff-straight in her chair, staring intently out the window beyond the desk in front of her and down into the atrium below. How long had she been waiting? Ten minutes? A quarter of an hour? She looked down at her watch. Fourteen minutes precisely. Oh, why had she applied to this stupid job? She was perfectly fine down in the archives. It was a good job, even if it was lacking in mental stimulus. That’s what her books were for. This was a mistake, she decided. Just because she was upset about a poorly handled case didn’t mean she had to go and get a job in Muggle relations in order to fix it herself. One person couldn’t do all that. It was silly of her to-</p><p>The door opened and she jumped, head whipping around to see a grey-haired witch wearing a bright yellow robe walk in. “Apologies, Ms. Granger. Those blokes up in the Minister’s office really know how to drag a conversation out longer than necessary.”</p><p>“Of course,” Hermione eked out, her voice thin.</p><p>“Tea?” The woman asked as she poured two cups, setting one down in front of Hermione.</p><p>The heat of the cup in her hands was calming and she immediately took a sip. “Thank you,” she added.</p><p>“So, you’re the infamous Hermione Granger. I would say it’s an honour, but I’m sure you’re tired of hearing that by now.”</p><p>Hermione chuckled and looked down at her lap. “Yes, it’s a little old at this point.”</p><p>“Well, Ms. Granger,” the woman continued with a warm smile, “I am Margaret Haywood, Head of the Muggle Liaison Office or, as I’m hoping we’ll be known as once the Minister approves the change, the Office for Muggle Relations. I never liked the world <em>liaison</em>. Always felt too formal. But you already know who I am, else you wouldn’t be here, would you?”</p><p>“No, I suppose not.” Hermione’s brow creased as she frowned in thought for a moment. “You aren’t related to Penny Haywood, by any chance?”</p><p>Haywood’s smile turned into a grin. “She’s my daughter. Come to think of it, she has mentioned Professor Potter a few times. I should’ve known your paths had crossed at least once.” With a quick tut, she flipped open a folder on her desk. “Now, you are here because you would like to be my new assistant, isn’t that right?”</p><p>Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off.</p><p>“I must thank Shacklebolt for stealing my last one. He was a nice lad, very good at fetching tea.”</p><p>“Is that what the position is?” There hadn’t been much information in the posting, but Hermione had thought an assistantship to a Head of Office would entail more than running errands. Of course she hadn’t expected it to be a particularly glamorous or exciting job, but Percy had started as an assistant to Mr. Crouch and now he was a senior official in the Minister’s offices. And, well, with everything that had happened she figured joining this branch of the DMAC would put her in a position to do some good work eventually. Draco had said as much when—no, she couldn’t think of him right now.</p><p>Haywood shrugged. “I suppose you <em>could</em> fetch tea if you wanted. What I mean to say is that the young Mr. Fleet was not the brightest broom in the closet. But, with Shacklebolt’s efforts across the Ministry for reorganization, I have been a busy little pixie causing trouble. And I need help causing more trouble. You’ve no doubt heard about the little scandal Mr. Fletcher caused and all of the nonsense our companions across the pond have been spewing in response?”</p><p>Hermione was having a hard time keeping up. Realizing her mouth was agape, she snapped it shut and nodded. This was by far the most bizarre interview she’d ever been on.</p><p>“Excellent. Now, I may have failed my Divination O.W.L., but allow me this one prediction. You, being perhaps one of the most notable Muggle-born witches of the 20th century, find the whispers of these anti-Muggle laws across the world troubling.”</p><p>Hermione nodded again.</p><p>“I thought as much. I’ve got two parents, a brother, and a husband who are all Muggles. I’m about as fit for my job as one can get. But, despite being on the committee to handle the whole matter with Mr. Fletcher, I’m afraid that I didn’t have as much influence as I’d hoped in calming everyone down. That’s why I’ve put the pressure on our friend Shacklebolt to increase my budget. Those fanatical Americans may have voted down their obscene law, but the damage has already been done. I have grand plans for this department that go beyond simply running around obliviating Muggles, but to do that I need an assistant who can do more than fetch tea. I need new blood and new ideas. Now, I was very pleased to see your application and so, without further ado, I would like to formally offer you the position of Assistant to the Head of the Office for Muggle Relations- phew that’s a mouthful.”</p><p>Opening her mouth, Hermione immediately closed it again. “Are- are you not going to ask me any questions? This is an interview and-”</p><p>“Oh, please, Ms. Granger, I think you and I both know that you’re meant for this job. If you hadn’t applied, I would’ve gone down to those dusty archives to drag you up here myself. The moment the position opened up, that know-it-all Weasley in Shacklebolt’s office mentioned to me that you were thinking of a career change.”</p><p>She’d have to kick Percy on Sunday for meddling. Or perhaps thank him. “I’m not really sure what to say.”</p><p>“Well, you could say yes and move into the lovely desk just outside the door by the end of the day,” Haywood said, gesturing to the door. “Or, you can say no and go back to the archives. However, I will be sad if you choose the latter. I was looking forward to working with you.”</p><p>Finally, Hermione’s brain caught up to the moment and she kicked herself for even hesitating. “Of course, I’d love to work for you. Yes, I’ll take the job, Madame Haywood.”</p><p>Haywood clapped excitedly before reaching across the desk to shake Hermione’s hand. “I’m so glad. And please, call me Peggy. You and I will cause all sorts of trouble.”</p><p>Hermione arrived at the Burrow two days later for the usual Sunday dinner and was met with a raucous cheering. Percy was first at the door, shaking her hand vigorously. “Congratulations on the new job, Hermione.”</p><p>“I heard I have you to thank for-” she started in a somewhat menacing tone. She was cut off as Ron practically picked her up with a hug.</p><p>“Finally, it’s about bloody time,” he grunted as he set her down.</p><p>Several minutes later the noise died down. Percy spent nearly half an hour interrogating her on all of the exciting things she’d done on her first day, to which Hermione tried explaining that she’d really only been in the position for a few hours and it was mostly setting up her desk and being introduced to the dozen or so members of the office. He was finally cut off when Molly called everyone to the table, an announcement for which Hermione was extremely grateful.</p><p>She ate in silence, staring at her food. The conversations around her turned into a buzzing noise in her brain. It was only when Ginny practically leapt out of her seat and was chased into the next room by George that Hermione returned to the moment. She stood and helped Molly clear the table.</p><p>“I’m going to sit outside and enjoy the cold air, do you want to join?” Fleur asked, standing up slowly from the table.</p><p>“Er, sure,” Hermione replied, setting the last of the plates in the sink for the enchanted scrubber to clean. “Are you feeling alright?”</p><p>Fleur grumbled as she tied a massive cloak around her shoulders. “No worse than last time. It’s the usual aches.”</p><p>Dominique had been born a few weeks prior. She was a healthy, beautiful baby girl according to Molly. Hermione and Fleur exited to the front steps and sat down. Hermione sat a step lower than Fleur, who wrapped her cloak around the both of them. Leaning back into the warmth, Hermione tilted her head to rest on Fleur’s arm.</p><p>“Are you sad it wasn’t a boy?” she asked.</p><p>Fleur was quiet for several seconds. “Yes and no.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Dominique is beautiful and I love her, but I was disappointed. I come from a family of many girls. Bill has many brothers, but it’s not the same as having a baby boy of my own blood. There is always next time.”</p><p>Hermione craned her neck to look back at Fleur. “Next time? You’re already planning another one?”</p><p>“Of course,” Fleur laughed. “When we got married, Bill and I decided we wanted three. We might not wait as long as we did between Victoire and Dominique. Perhaps only a year instead of four.”</p><p>“I always wished I had siblings.” Although, Hermione supposed that Harry was as good as a brother nowadays. But it wasn’t the same. “I was so lonely growing up. No wonder I read so many books. I had nothing better to do.”</p><p>A heavy weight slipped back into Hermione’s chest as she stared out at the front garden.</p><p>Fleur stooped down and pressed her cheek to Hermione’s. “You are sad, I can feel it,” she said before straightening up. She freed one hand from the cloak and played with a curl on Hermione’s temple. “You just got a wonderful new job, you should be happy! You should celebrate!”</p><p>“I am happy and I do want to celebrate! It’s just…”</p><p>“Not with us?”</p><p>Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know.”</p><p>They lapsed into silence again. A few snowflakes fell from the sky, melting as soon as they touched the ground. Hermione <em>did</em> want to celebrate with someone else, but she was still mad at him even if he had been right.</p><p>“Ron said you’ve stopped seeing that pompous boy you hated. Is that why you’re sad?”</p><p>It was like Fleur could read minds and Hermione hated it. “Draco isn’t <em>pompous</em>. He’s…” What was a good word for him? Arrogant? Perhaps, although one could say the same about herself. “No, I haven’t seen him in a while.”</p><p>“Did he do something to you?”</p><p>Nothing she didn’t deserve. “No.”</p><p>“Did you do something to him?”</p><p>Nothing he didn’t deserve. “No.”</p><p>“Then what happened?”</p><p>Hermione shrugged. “It just fell apart. Some people aren’t meant to be friends, I suppose.” The weight in her chest grew heavier.</p><p>“No, you were meant to be lovers,” Fleur chuckled.</p><p>Hermione twisted around to gape at Fleur, but met with a grin. “I am French, I’m allowed to say these things,” she cried with a laugh. “Tell me I am wrong.”</p><p>Hermione didn’t say a word and instead turned back around.</p><p>Fleur hummed happily. “I’m only teasing you. Ron and Ginny don’t know how to be quiet when they gossip.”</p><p>In the name of Merlin, Hermione would have to beat Ron over the head for spreading such stupid rumours. “That’s all it was. Just gossip,” she lied.</p><p>The truth was she <em>had</em> liked Draco quite a lot. She still wasn’t sure if that dinner was supposed to be a date, but she didn’t see why not. And then they’d gone and fought and he’d called her a coward. She deserved it, but it had still made her mad. She stayed mad for ages—a lot longer than she should’ve if she really didn’t have feelings for him—and by the time she’d cooled off it was too late. She’d brushed past him at the Ministry and ignored his very existence for too long, and now it had been almost two weeks since she’d seen him. It could be another six years before they run into each other again and that was six years too long.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. 24 December 2004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you sure it’s alright for me to be here?” Draco asked, throwing the quaffle over at Harry.</p><p>“I told you, she’s at her parents’. She won’t be back until later.”</p><p>He still couldn’t shake the notion that he was intruding. A month and a half with no word from Hermione yet here he was, standing in her garden, throwing a quaffle back and forth with Potter after dinner.</p><p>“When does your mum arrive?” Potter threw the ball back.</p><p>Draco grumbled a little and fumbled his catch. “She arrived at Andromeda’s this morning. I won’t see her until tomorrow.” He was dreading it, actually. “I haven’t told her about the Manor yet. Didn’t seem like the kind of thing you put in a letter. What was I going to say? ‘Your son, Draco. P.S.: I sold my ancestral home, hope you don’t mind. Don’t tell Father.’”</p><p>Potter started laughing. “No, I guess that’s not something you can just chuck in at the end of a letter.”</p><p>“I’m going to tell him eventually.”</p><p>“Have you visited him?”</p><p>Draco shook his head. “I’m still not sure I could without doing something that would land <em>me</em> in Azkaban, too.”</p><p>“Fair enough.”</p><p>They tossed the ball back and forth several times in silence. Getting rid of the Manor had taken less time than he’d expected. Part of him had hoped it would be a months-long struggle so that he could put off having to break the news to his mother as long as possible. Instead, it had gone so quickly and so smoothly it seemed almost too easy.</p><p>All the same, he felt better being rid of the place. The townhouse had become more of a home to him than the Manor ever was. Perhaps because it was so new to him, a place he’d hardly ever seen until moving in a few years ago. It was <em>his</em> home, not a Malfoy residence.</p><p>“I think she’ll understand,” Draco finally said. “She never liked that he used the Manor as his headquarters. Not to mention she was forced to watch as he tortured my father and I.”</p><p>“Hard to forget, I suppose.”</p><p>“That’s what I’m counting on. I mean, it’s not like she can undo it even if she wanted. I signed the papers last week. Speaking of, who knew that Muggle bureaucracy is even worse than ours?”</p><p>“It’s the worst, I can’t stand-”</p><p>“Harry, I’m back early!” a voice cried from inside the house.</p><p>Draco’s heart leapt to his throat and he looked over at Potter in a panic. “You said she wouldn’t be back until later!” he whisper-shouted.</p><p>“She usually gets back from her parents’ at like ten o’clock on Fridays!”</p><p>“Then why is she here if it’s only seven?”</p><p>“Harry?” her voice called again.</p><p>“I’m out back!” Potter shouted in reply.</p><p>Draco threw the quaffle as hard as he could at Potter, who caught it in the stomach with an audible grunt. “Good job, Potter. You promised she wouldn’t know.”</p><p>The back door opened and out stepped Hermione, red dress peeking out from under a cape-like coat, her hair piled on top of her head and stuck through with her wand. “Harry what are you-” She stopped when she saw him, her mouth agape.</p><p>Draco wanted to look away. His heart was pounding in his ears. He wanted to run. Why hadn’t he apparated the moment she called out?</p><p>“You’re back early,” Potter finally said.</p><p>She licked her lips and addressed Potter, but never took her eyes off of Draco. “My parents invited several of their friends. They started asking too many questions so I left as soon as we finished eating.”</p><p>“That’s a shame.”</p><p>Potter threw the ball back at Draco equally as hard, almost knocking the wind out of him. Draco fumbled and caught it, his stare finally broken. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground as Potter continued.</p><p>“I figured since you were out, I’d invite Draco over,” he said, bounding up the back steps. His voice lowered a little and grew almost antagonistic. “You may never want to see him again, but he’s Teddy’s cousin and that makes him my family.”</p><p>Draco replayed the last bit in his head. He didn’t even think it was possible for any of those three to argue with each other. And on top of that, had Potter just defended him?</p><p>Hermione shot Potter a steely glare and followed him inside. Draco waited several seconds before following. There was no point in apparating now, he’d left his good coat inside and he wasn’t about to leave without it.</p><p>He half expected to find the two of them fighting, but Potter was nowhere to be seen. Hermione was by the front door, tucking her coat away into the closet right next to where his was hanging. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Draco stepped up behind her.</p><p>“I- I’m sorry, Hermione” was all he could muster. He was sorry for what he’d said. He was sorry for everything he’d done over the years. He was sorry for ever running into her that day in Flourish and Blotts. He reached around her and yanked his coat from its hanger, slipping it on. She simply stood there, staring into the closet. “I’ll make sure to keep away. Potter can just come to my place next time.”</p><p>His eye caught that same curl on the back of her neck that always drew his gaze. His chest tightened and he looked away. Taking a step back, he reached out and took hold of the doorknob. He had come by floo, but he needed a good, long walk to shake this off before he went home.</p><p>“You used my name,” Hermione finally said.</p><p>Draco fumbled for an answer, his hand still on the door. “I guess I did.” When had he started thinking of her as Hermione rather than Granger?</p><p>“I got a new job.”</p><p>His mouth went dry. “Congratulations.”</p><p>She turned around, looking at the ground as she brushed a curl behind her ear. Her face was almost as red as her dress and it definitely couldn’t be from the cold. “Yeah, I, er, I’m the new Assistant to the Head of the Office for Muggle Relations. It’s a mouthful, I know. I’ve only been there two weeks and I’m really enjoying it.”</p><p>“I’m happy for you.” Merlin, speaking was so hard right now. It took every ounce of will for him to just get a word out. “I sold the Manor.”</p><p>A look of shock spread across her face as she looked up at him. “You what?”</p><p>“I sold the Manor,” he repeated, rubbing the back of his neck. It was starting to get warm with this coat on and the scarf hanging around his neck. “I’ve been meaning to sell it for a while, I just never got around to, you know, actually going through with it. I haven’t told my parents yet.”</p><p>“I can’t imagine they’ll be very happy about it.” She chuckled quietly.</p><p>“Well, I think it’s time the Malfoys stop clinging to the past. As my aunt said, it’s a new world out there.” He found himself halfway to a half-hearted smile. “Might as well make the most of it.”</p><p>She nodded, licking her lips again.</p><p>They stared at each other for several long seconds. For a moment Draco thought he might throw up. His whole body was on fire and he wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Every part of him wanted to kiss her, as insane as it sounded. Not a word for over a month and yet somehow his feelings had only gotten stronger.</p><p>Oh, for Merlin’s sake, he might as well just do it. What was the worst that could happen? She’d hex him, perhaps, but he could live with that. His fingers twitched as he willed his body to move. He lifted a hand and-</p><p>She beat him to it. Typical Gryffindor. Her hands were on his neck, pulling him a few inches down to meet her and their mouths crashed together. She pressed up against him and yet somehow his hands still couldn’t figure out what to do.</p><p>Eventually she pulled back and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Red-faced, she looked away. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “I had a fair bit of champagne at my parents’ and-”</p><p>“Well if your excuse is alcohol, then mine is sheer lunacy,” Draco replied.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>His body finally caught up to his brain and he reached out, slipping a hand behind her neck. His finger brushed that curl he’d stared at for weeks and it sent a shiver up his spine. He pulled her back in for a second kiss. It was longer than the first, but gentler.</p><p>One of her hands pressed against his chest. They parted, but only enough to talk. “What are you doing on Boxing Day,” she asked.</p><p>“More of this, I’m assuming?”</p>
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